THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


W. 


t/M. 


The  Blind  Canary 


HUGH  FARRAR  McDERMOTT 


SECOND  EDITION 
(REVISED,  WITH  ADDITIONS) 


NEW    YORK 

G.  .p.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

27    &    2Q   WEST    23D   STREET 

1883 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

1883 


Press  of 

G.  P.  Putnam  s  Sons 
New    York 


fs 


* 

M  /V34- 


TO  THE  AUTHOR. 


Sweet  minstrel,  oft  this  little  book  of  verse 

Comes  to  my  hand,  a  token  of  thy  love  ; 
And,  as  its  potent  lines  stray  thoughts  coerce, 

I  feast  my  heart  on  manna  from  above. 
To  few  pure  souls  is  given  the  power  that  thou 

Hast  shown,  O  poet,  in  thy  gentler  mien  ! 
As  stately  ships  calm  ocean's  ripples  plow, 

So  thy  soft  music,  welcome,  comes  between 
The  hours  of  toil  and  twilight's  restful  time, 

When  Nature  calls  for  all  surcease  of  care  ; 
'T  is  then  I  revel  in  thy  soothing  rhyme, 

And  greet  the  mind  whose  majesty  is  there. 
HENRY  CLAY  LUKENS 


1051444 


MY   BLIND   CANARY. 

JWEET  singer  to  my  dreams, 

My  blind  canary, 
I  dwell  upon  the  liquid  note 
That  fills  thy  little  breast  and  throat, 

And  comes  forth  piping,  full  and  airy, 
Reaching  far  and  far  away, 
To  some  dreamy,  twilight  day, 

Whose  virgin  star  with  softness  beams 
On  fairy  dell  and  fairy. 

When  night  kneels  down  before  the  West 

In  silent  prayer, 

That,  till  the  morn  unveils  her  eye, 
In  tranquil  sleep  the  world  shall  lie, 

And  serf  and  king  like  blessings  share ; 
'Tis  then  thy  voice  in  music  falls 
Along  my  heart's  deserted  halls, 

Whose  mould'ring  rafters  find  their  guest 

Too  sweet  to  bear. 

i 


MY  BLIND   CANARY. 

Who  made  thy  song  so  all  divine, 

My  blind  canary  ? 
Who  taught  thy  little  tongue  to  sing  ? 

Who  gave  thy  voice  a  heavenly  ring  ? 

•sfcf 
How  learnedst  thou  thus.sweetly 

The  long  vibrations  of  thy  muse, 
And  o'er  high  angels  to  diffuse 

A  lay  too  fine  for  hearts  like  mine, 
So  sad  and  weary  ? 


What  dark-wing'd  fate  close-sealed  thine  eyes,. 

My  soul's  enchanter  ? 
A  fate,  may  be,  of  high  decree 
Ordained  this  world  thou  shouldst  not  see, 

Or  that  our  life's  a  cheat  and  banter. 
The  heart's  deep  wrong,  the  maiden's  tear, 
The  pain,  the  strife,  suspense  and  fear  ;  — 
Our  woes  to  know  thou  art  too  wise, 
Sweet  heaven  haunter. 

Dost  sing  the  joys  of  warmer  climes, 
My  little  stranger  ? 


MY  BLIND    CANARY. 

Those  changeless  green  Canary  Isles, 
Where  ever  long  the  summer  smiles 
On  tamarin  and  forest  ranger  ? 
On  those  green  isles,  lapped  by  the  sea, 
Perennial  blooms  thy  parent  tree, 

Far  from  man's  sins,  far  from  his  crimes, 
And  far  from  danger. 

How  cam'st  thou  from  thy  sunny  isles, 

In  cold  to  wander? 
As  poets  from  the  heavens  are  flung 
Mean  mortals  of  this  earth  among, 

For  bread  to  sing  and  starve,  and  pander, 
Thou  minstrel  of  the  stately  palms, 
In  frosty  climes  dost  sing  for  alms, 
Where  man  beguiles  with  heartless  wiles, 
Deceit  and  slander. 

The  yucca  and  the  citron  tree 

Thou  knowest  no  more  ; 
The  guavas  sweet  and  mangosteen 
Will  never  more  by  thee  be  seen ; 

Thy  treble  note  no  more  will  pour 


MY  BLIND    CANARY. 

O'er  mango,  palm  and  asphodel, 
And  pomegranate,  and  aureate  bell ; 
No  more,  my  bird,  thy  vision's  free 
To  see  thy  native  shore. 

There  is  a  morn  of  brighter  beams 

Thine  eyes  beneath, 
Than  ever  shone  to  mortal  view, 
Or  fancy's  painting  ever  drew  ; 

Thy  downy  form  is  but  the  sheath, 
And  music,  flashing  on  its  throne 
Of  paradise  and  burnished  zone, 

Thy  world  illumes,  and  incense  teems 
On  thy  laurel  wreath. 

When  low  the  plume  of  awful  Death 

In  dusk  descends 
Upon  the  couch  where  life  is  run, 
And  cold  oblivion's  night  begun, 

Ere  yet  the  soul  its  casement  rends, 
The  lights  of  heaven  pass  in  review, 
And  waning  hopes  their  pulse  renew  : 


MY  BLIND   CANARY. 

Such  scenes  are  thine,  to  which  thy  breath 
Its  sweetness  lends. 

0  !  minstrel  of  the  mystic  trill, 
And  rhyme  elastic ! 

There  is  a  singer  in  my  breast 
That  rises  to  thy  vocal  crest, 

Though  long  her  lute  has  lain  monastic ; 
Thy  dulcet  notes  with  thee  she'd  share, 
But  since  thy  song's  untinged  with  care, 
She  stoops,  and  droops,  and  wanders  still 
Amid  her  dreams  dynastic. 

1  dwell  in  space  and  nothingness ; 
With  thee  I'd  soar  ! 

I  live  in  echoes  of  the  past, 

Which  from  the  grave  are  to  me  cast, 

Like  phantoms  on  the  midnight  shore. 
When  hope  would  come,  a  weight  is  here, 
Which  crushes  pride  and  lightens  fear  ; 
For  hope's  misgivings  bring  distress 
None  can  explore. 


MY  BLIND   CANARY. 

To  thy  far  heights  with  thee  I'd  rise, 

With  soul  unchained ; 
To  that  domain  beyond  the  sky, 
Beyond  the  clouds  that  on  me  lie, 

Beyond  what  thought  has  e'er  attained. 
O  !  there  falls  a  sheen  of  golden  light, 
Chasing  away  the  pensive  night  ; 
It  blends  with  rays  of  milder  glow, 
And  bears  me  from  this  world  below, 
Till  faith  's  maintained. 


LAST  UPON  THE  ROLL. 

i. 

ilHE  sits  at  the  open  window,  on  a  calm  Septem- 

berday, 
And  out  on  the  mead  before  her  she  watches  the 

girls  at  play  ; 
A  gentle  breeze  blows  on  her  face  and  kisses  her 

locks  of  snow, 
And  she  thinks  of  the  days  when  she  was  young, 

seventy  years  ago. 

II. 
The  fields  are  green  as  they  were  then,  and  the  big 

old  rocks  as  gray, 
The  land  and  sky  are  as  fair  to  see,  the  sun  has  as 

mild  a  ray  ; 
The  drowsy  kine  rest  on  the  hill,  the  sheep  skip  to 

and  fro, 
Just  as  they  did  when  she  was  young,  seventy  years 

ago. 

7 


8  LAST   UPON   THE  ROLL. 

III. 
The  milkmaid  tugs  her  foaming  pail  with  ruddy 

strength  and  will, 
The  cowboy,  in   his  graceless   garb,  kicks  dogs  to 

keep  them  still ; 
The   housewife  bird  chirps  round  the  eaves  and 

scolds  her  truant  mate, 
Who  dives  to  the  ground  and  quick  returns,  bearing 

a  tiny  bait. 

IV. 

The  sturdy  youth,  with  dancing  eyes  and  the  vigor 
of  lusty  veins, 

Jumps  on  the  colt  and  o'er  the  fence,  to  show  no 
fear  restrains  ; 

Full  well  he  knows  that  a  neighbor's  rose,  is  watch 
ing  behind  a  tree, 

And  her  maiden  pride,  at  love's  full  tide,  follows 
him  over  the  lea. 

v. 

The  lowly  cot,  the  mansion  high,  cover  hill  and 
dale  the  same, 

And  wealth's  the  pride  of  old  and  young,  and  pov 
erty  the  shame  ; 


LAST    UPON  THE  ROLL.  Q» 

And  the  bright  blue  eye  of  the  cottage  maid  is  cast 

demurely  down, 
As  she  bends  before  a  sister  proud,  who  wears  a 

silken  gown. 

VI. 

The  tawny  west  falls  on  the  mead,  and  the  children 

homeward  fly, 
For  now*  they  see   the  whizzing  bat,  and  hear   the 

screech-owl's  cry  ; 
The   jumping  curls    strike    rosy  cheeks,    and  fear 

with  laughter  peals, 
For  each  one  knows,  as  she  whirling  goes,  there's  a- 

goblin  at  her  heels. 

VII. 

Down  on  the  pines,  with  their  haunted  heads,  the 

ghosts  of  evening  fall, 
And  the  phantom  touch  of  a  dream   too  much  on 

the  quick'ning  pulses  pall  ; 
For  invisible  visible  sights  are  there,  seen  by  fear 

alone, 
And,  as  round  they  fly,  they  cheat  the  eye,  and  down: 

on  the  heart  lie  prone. 


JO  LAST   UPON    THE  ROLL. 

VIII. 

She  looks  at  her  shrivelled  fingers,  and  she  smoothes 

her  wrinkled  hand, 
And  the  old,  old  love  comes  back  to  her,  as   she 

studies  the  golden  band  ; 
That  dear  old  ring  is  loose  and  thin  since   first  he 

placed  it  there, 

And  at  love's  shrine,  he  said,  "  Be  mine,"  and  knelt 

4 
with  her  in  prayer. 

IX. 

Eighty  years  of  joys  and  tears  through  time's  sad 
chambers  moan, 

And  still  she  hears  in  memory's  ears  a  once  familiar 
tone  ; 

In  long,  sweet  notes  to  her  it  floats,  and  it  tells  of 
the  olden  time, 

When  love  was  strong,  and   life  a  song,  and  hope 
was  in  its  prime. 

x. 

A  little  beyond  the  playground,  on  the  slope  of  yon 
der  hill, 

Her  dim  eyes  mark  the  gravestones  where  those  she 
loved  lie  still  ; 


LAST   UPON    THE   ROLL.  II 

And  her  thoughts  have  silent  nursing,  and  her  soul 

a  silent  grief, 
But   her   tear    is    the    bier    on  which  her  sorrow 

finds  relief. 

XI. 

Now  her  heart 's  as  light  as  the  morning,  with  wings 

of  a  soul  made  free, 
And  away,  away  to  the  tender  loves  she  is  all  love  to 

flee; 
And  the  God  she  adores  so  humbly,  and  the  Christ 

she  loves  so  well, 
Will  take  her  soon  to  the  waiting  ones,  beyond  life's 

weary  spell. 

XII. 

And  her  staff  is  lifted  slowly,  and  she  moves  around 

with  care, 
For  her  darlings  now  are  sleeping — she  might  wake 

them  unaware  : 

And  she  gropes  around  to   find  them,  and  to  bless 
7'//        them  in  her  soul, 

a  whisper  comes — "  We  wait,  mother  :  you  are 
last  upon  the  roll." 


WHEN  MY  DAYS  WERE  YOUNG  AND 
FAIR. 

JO  not  sing  that  song  again, 

For  it  fills  my  heart  with  pain; 
I  am  bending  to  the  blast, 
And  it  tells  me  of  the  past, 

Of  the  years  of  long  ago, 
When  my  days  were  young  and  fair, 
And  my  heart  as  light  as  air  ; 
When  one  feeling  filled  the  breast, 
And  one  image  gave  it  rest, 

In  the  long,  long  ago. 


Do  not  sing  that  song  again, 
I  have  lived  my  years  in  vain, 
And  my  hair  is  thin  and  gray, 
And  I'm  passing  fast  away; 

12 


WHEN  MY  DAYS  WERE   YO  UNG,  ETC.       13 

On  the  dark  and  downward  streams 
I'm  a  wreck  of  idle  dreams, 
And  it  puts  me  on  the  rack 
At  the  weary  looking  back, 
At  the  ebb  and  at  the  flow, 
In  the  long,  long  ago. 

Do  not  sing  that  song  again, 
There's  a  tear  in  its  refrain ; 
It  brings  sadly  back  the  time 
When  my  manhood  felt  its  prime, 
When  the  comrades,  dear  and  true, 
Closer,  warmer,  fonder  grew, 
In  the  hour  of  friendship's  proof, 
When  the  false  ones  stood  aloof, 
And  their  friendship  was  but  show, 
In  the  long,  long  ago. 

Do  not  sing  that  song  again, 
It  distracts  my  weary  brain  j 
Ah  !  too  well,  alas  !  I  know 
It  is  time  for  me  to  go, 


14      WHEN  MY  DAYS  WERE   YOUNG,  ETC. 

And  to  leave  to  younger  eyes 
The  mild  mystery  of  the  skies, 
And  this  mighty  world  I  tread, 
And  the  grander  age  ahead. 

There's  a  mist  upon  the  river, 

And  there's  bleakness  on  the  shore, 

And  in  dreams  I  pass  forever, 
While  sad  music  wafts  me  o'er. 


THE  RIVER  OF  TIME. 

• 

j]OME,  fill  me  a  glass  from  the  River  of  Time, 
A  bright  flowing  bumper,  fill  it  high   to  the 

brim, 
'Till  I  drink  to  the  friends  who  passed  in    their 

prime, 
'Till  I  drink  to  their  shadows,  fantastic  and  grim. 

What  is  life,  what  is  death  on  the  River  of  Time, 

But  a  ray  on  a  rose,  then  a  puff  of  the  air, 
Which  wafts  the  soul's  fragrance  to  a  kingdom  sub 
lime, 

Far  away  from  men's  treason,  life's  torment  and 
care. 

Let  me  quaff  to  the  bower  where  my  dream-love 
began, 

In  the  far  by-gone  days  of  gladness  and  glee, 
When  my  boat,  with  my  joy,  on  Time's  River  ran, 

With  the   breeze  for  her  sail,  loud  laughing  and. 

free. 

15 


1 6  THE  RIVER   OF    TIME. 

Farewell  to    those  days  when  the  heart  was  still 

young, 

And  I  danced  in  the  dreamlight  of  Hope's  morn 
ing  star  ; 

Tarewell  to  the  days  when  my  free  footsteps  sprung 
Over   mountain    and   valley,   o'er   streamlet  and 
bar. 

In  the  sunbeams  I  played,  while  their  glories  be 
guiled, 
And  the  smile  of  love's  eye  was  the  gem   of  my 

soul ; 
And  I  sailed  on  that  stream  with  the  pride  of  a 

child, 
Whose  rosebud  of  joy  is  a  paradise  whole. 

Oh,  never  again  shall  one  moment  return, 

With  its  morning  of  hope,   and    its   garland   of 

spring, 

JFor  deep  down  in  the  heart  the  embers  that  burn 
Round  the  dreams  of  my  youth   to    cerements 
cling. 


THE  RIVER   OF   TIME.  I? 

With  the  seasons  that  come,  and  the  seasons  that  go, 
As  he  counts  the  far  years  ere  his  manhood  is  born, 

Youth's  patience  is  long,  and  his  biding  is  slow, 
And  old   Time's  rolling  river  is  compassed  with 
scorn. 

With  the  sunsets  that  fade,  and  the  twilights  that 

fall, 
As  he  numbers  the  days,  swift-wing'd    in   their 

flight, 

Ere  he  lays  aside  care  at  the  Death-Angel's  call, 
Age  turns  to  the  past  with  a  far-fading  sight  ; 

"Where  is  genius?"  he  asks;   "where  is  talent's  re 
ward  ?  " 

And  he  fixes  his  gaze  on  the  River  of  Time  ; 
"  It  is  ground  underfoot  by  a  cold-hearted  horde, 

The  noisy  in  brass,  and  the  cringers  to  crime." 

And  the  river  flows  on,  as  I  stand  on  its  brink, 
And  the  friends  of  a  day  pass  by  on  the  tide  ; 

And  the  good  and  the  true  undeservedly  sink, 
And  the  bad  and  the  bold  undeservedlv  ride. 


BELCHER  AND  HIS  LAMBS. 

i. 

'LL  hie  to  church,  with  Belcher's  lambs  I  'If 

pray, 

And  smile  good-natured  at  the  merry  play. 
The  deacon  moves  before  the  saintly  door, 
Bows  in  the  wealthy,  and  bows  out  the  poor. 
Down  proud  broad  aisles  pass  saints  of  every  mold, 
The  ogling,  jealous,  and  the  saints  who  scold, 
The  saints  for  sale,  the  saints  who  have  been  sold  ; 
The  painted  saints,  with  curls  to  order  made  ; 
The  saints  of  hat  and  plume  and  rich  brocade  ; 
The  merchant  saints,  whose  diamonds  shine  afar, 
On  fingers  cleanly  scrubbed  of  pitch  and  tar ; 
The  premium  saint,  whose  pew  we  closely  scan, 
As  round  the  whisper  goes  that  "he  's  the  man  ;'" 
The  saint  who  grunts,  and,  with  a  solid  launch, 
Down  bears  his  seat,  and  forth  distends  his  paunch. 
Wipes  from  his  brow  big  drops  of  smoking  dew, 
Then  puffs  and  swells,  as  barley  malt  doth  bre\v  ; 


BELCHER  AND  HIS  LAMBS.  19 

The  saint  of  musk,  whose  'kerchief  scents  the  air  ; 
The  hoary  saint,  who  dyes  his  grizzly  hair  ; 
The  saint  who  giveth,  as  the  plate  goes  roun^       7 
To  heaven  a  gift,  .of  which  he  robbed  the  town. 

n. 

On  yon  plump  form,  bedecked  with  flowing  hair, 

All  eyes  are  fixed  with  most  punctilious  care. 

As  o'er  his  chest  his  arms  conversely  slip, 

A  studied  gesture  waits  upon  his  lip. 

He  bends,  he  shakes — a  word,  a  toss,  a  bow  ; 

Ye    saints,   be    still — there    's    storm    on    Belcher's 

brow. 

His  theme  is  virtue,  and  demands  his  rage, 
Like  Vengeance  strutting  on  the  mimic  stage  ; 
He  kicks,  he  stamps,  he  lashes  to  and  fro, 
And  with  his  cant  at  reason  strikes  a  blow  ; 
Back  casts  his  hair,  like  Sappho  ere  the  plunge, 
And  makes  at  mouths  agape  a  forward  lunge  ; 
In  his  great  bosom  lodge  all  nature's  charms, 
Involving  love  'twixt  generous  lips  and  arms. 


PHRENKEPHALE. 

JROUD  and  plump  o'er  many  a  bump 

Of  that  phrenologic  lump 
Which,  in  nature's  perfect  plan, 
The  full  compass  bears  to  man, 
Sits  a  bird  with  haughty  crest, 
Mother  to  her  tender  nest, 
Feeding  broods  of  hungry  throats, 
Which  fly  open  when  she  floats 
To  the  rosy,  smiling  sky 
Of  imagination  high. 

Looking  from  the  tallest  tree 
Of  the  mental  sphere,  I  see 
Birds,  of  various  flecks  and  dyes, 
Round  their  nidus  tilt  and  rise  ; 
Birds,  with  gorgeous  plumage  spread, 
Ribbed  with  rays  from  tail  to  head. 

Fair  's  the  surplice  of  the  dove, 
Circling  near  her  organ  Love, 


PHRENKEPHALE.  21 

Nourishing  her  happy  nest 
At  the  lover's  throbbing  breast : 
Darting  rays  from  eye  to  eye, 
That  are  nimbused  with  a  sigh, 
Which  o'er  the  tide  of  lovers  roll, 
And  fill  love's  canvas  of  the  soul. 

Raving  in  his  frantic  fits, 

O'er  the  nest  of  Fury  flits 

The  falcon,  with  his  talons  strong, 

Thrilled  with  the  melody  of  wrong. 

With  red  battle  in  his  eye, 

And  a  wild,  sulphuric  cry, 

O'er  the  empire  of  the  brain 

Terribly  he  holds  his  reign, 

Till  the  frenzy  of  despair 

Claims  him  as  its  dying  heir. 

High  on  the  organ  Self-Conceit 
The  peacock  spreads  his  ample  sheet 
Of  flowing  tail  and  glowing  spots, 
And  pride,  which  dazzles  while  it  rots  ; 


22  PHRENKEPHALE. 

His  stomach  feeds  on  feathered  thought, 
By  small-eyed  folly  moused  and  caught, 
Till  down  the  warping  of  its  nose 
Offensive  to  good  taste  it  flows. 
—To  jackanape  't  would  be  no  boon 
To  raise  the  hand  and  pluck  the  moon, 
And  plant  it,  with  an  unctuous  vow, 
A  diadem  on  his  brazen  brow. 

On  the  nest  of  gibble-gabble 

Clacks  the  magpie's  foolish  babble. 

How  she  sets  the  mental  air 

Madly  moving  through  the  hair, 

At  her  chatter- chitter-chatter, 

At  her  polylogy  clatter, 

Till,  at  last,  her  thievish  tongue, 

Plundering  the  acoustic  lung, 

Clouds  the  power  of  peaceful  thought, 

And  dies  unteaching  and  untaught. 

On  bump  Wisdom  sits  the  owl, 
In  his  sober,  monkish  cowl, 


PIIRENKEPIIALE.  2  3 

With  deep  eyes  as  wide  as  thought, 
Long  by  problems  overwrought. 
In  his  jole  and  curving  beak 
Grasps  of  wisdom  silence  speak, — 
Wisdom  deep,  which  seems  to  dwell 
On  the  doubts  that  measure  hell  ; 
Wisdom  cold,  which  seems  to  say, 
"  Peace  for  man  is  far  away." 

O'er  the  poet's  dome  of  Wit 
Sings  the  mavis  minims  fit, 
Soaring,  as  she  thrills  her  song, 
High  above  the  ravished  throng. 
— O  magnet  music  of  the  soul  ! 
What  gods  thy  seraph  breath  control  ! 
Thine  eye  is  like  a  spirit  star, 
Which  leads  me  to  the  realms  afar, 
Sailing  on  celestial  seas, 
Wafted  by  celestial  breeze  ! 
Thy  brow  's  a  cadence  browsed  on  dew 
Of  long,  sweet  echoes,  rolling  through 
That  vale  of  bliss  where  soul  and  mind 
Are  peopled  with  their  spirit  kind. 


24  PHRENKEPHALE. 

Thy  face  is  like  the  rose's  art, 
Which  sheds  its  essence  from  the  heart  ; 
As  one  by  one  the  rose-leaves  fall, 
The  last  is  sweetest  of  them  all  ; 
As  one  by  one  the  sweet  notes  die, 
The  last  brings  forth  our  dearest  sigh. 


THERE  'S  NO  WIFE  LIKE  MY  WIFE. 


HE  morning  sun  is  breaking, 
The  gorgeous  East  is  waking, 


And  one,  in  all  her  splendor, 
With  whispers  that  are  tender, 
Angelic  love  is  breathing, 
Angelic  life  is  wreathing, 
About  my  heart  so  nearly, 
About  my  soul  so  dearly, 
Enchanted  with  my  pleasure, 
I  sing,  in  joyous  measure — 

There  's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There 's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There  is  no  wife  like  mine. 

Her  rosy  lip  is  luscious, 
Her  song  is  like  the  thrush's, 
Her  laughing  dimples  cover 
The  glory  of  her  lover. 


26         THERE  'S  NO  WIFE  LIKE  MY  WIFE. 

Like  the  maiden  wave  of  Summer, 
Whose  blue  lips  overcome  her, 
The  lambent  circumfusion 
Of  Lena's  charm'd  illusion 
About  me  floats  so  airy, 
It  half  conceals  my  fairy. 

There  's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There  's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There  is  no  wife  like  mine. 

O  the  frolic  of  her  tresses  ! 

And  her  rollicking  caresses  ! 

And  the  beaming  and  the  gleaming, 

And  the  glory  o'er  her  streaming  ! 

So  deft  and  coy  her  pat  is, 

So  debonair  her  chat  is, 

Her  blooming  grace  illumes  me, 

And  heaven's  love  consumes  me. 

There  's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There  's  no  wife  like  my  wife, 
There  is  no  wife  like  mine. 


THE  PILOT. 

JROM  yonder  ledge  to  yonder  shore, 
Across  the  river's  pulsing  tide, 


The  pilot,  skilled  in  nautic  lore, 

Revolves  his  wheel  from  side  to  side. 

In  silent  ways  he  wins  his  bays, 
His  mold  is  strong,  his  face  is  dun, 

Bronzed  by  the  kissing,  amorous  rays, 
Blown  from  the  nostrils  of  the  sun. 

When  Night's  brown  hand  uncoils  her  hair, 
And  spreads  it  o'er  the  waters  blue, 

The  pilot's  eye  she  fires  with  care, 
And  binds  his  breast  to  duty  true. 

The  lazy  fog  is  dimly  starred 

With  balls  of  red  and  blue  and  green, 

And  screaming  whistles  startling  guard 
A  passage  felt,  but  all  unseen. 

27 


28  THE  PILOT. 

All  groping  through  the  masking  mist, 
The  steamboats  near,  like  pressing  sin,. 

And  cling  to  souls  that  would  exist, 
One  day,  one  hour  of  life  to  win. 

The  life  that  fills  the  pilot's  hand 

Responds  to  hearts  with  bated  breath, 

While  faith  ascends  to  his  command, 
And  doffs  its  phantom  raiment,  death. 


CONTEMPLATION. 

JHE  bright  waves  leap 

Across  the  steep, 
And  in  the  deep  are  lost  forever  ; 

If  I  must  sing, 

My  hopes  take  wing 
Through  shades  of  gloom,  returning  never. 

Oh  soul  opprest ! 

Where  is  that  rest 
For  which  I  crave,  and  pine,  and  sorrow  ? 

Where  is  that  beam 

That,  in  a  dream, 
Forever  shines  but  for  to-morrow  ? 

The  fiends  of  air 

And  spectres  bare 
Lay  cold  and  withered  hands  upon  me  ; 

And  joy's  sweet  sound 

Goes  round  and  round, 
Beyond  my  reach,  to  mock  and  shun  me. 
29 


30  CONTEMPLA  TIOK. 

Does  my  God  know 

The  weight  of  woe 
I  daily,  hourly  suffer  under  ? 

Are  hearts  opprest 

Ne'er  to  be  blest 
Till  every  chord  is  rent  asunder  ? 

This  cold,  sad  earth 

Gave  me  not  birth, 
For  all  around  is  strange  and  gloomy ; 

The  eyes  I  meet 

I  fear  to  greet, 
For  in  the  air  there's  danger  to  me. 

The  words  of  men 

Affright  me  when 
In  moods  my  spirit  soars  above  me, 

And  oft  I  try 

To  crush  a  sigh 
For  those  I  love — for  those  that  love  me. 

•    From  main  to  main 

The  world's  wild  strain 
Is  painful  to  my  wakeful  senses  ; 


CONTEMPLA  T1ON.  3  F 

And  in  my  blood 
There  is  a  flood 
That  down  would  sweep  on  man's  offenses. 

My  star  is  set, 

My  eyelids  wet ; 
Upon  me  falls  the  night  eternal ; 

My  struggling  breath, 

Half  born  of  death, 
The  soul  would  free  from  chains  infernal. 

Oh  star  of  night ! 

Why  shine  so  bright, 
Since  far  I  am  from  thy  proud  splendor  ? 

Why  mock  my  gloom, 

My  living  tomb, 
With  dreams  that  die  in  doubt  and  wonder? 

Do  thy  pure  beams, 
That  fill  my  dreams, 
And  lead  me  up  to  realms  supernal, 


CONTEMPLA  TIO.V. 

Do  they,  O  star, 
Shoot  wide  and  far 
Into  all  space  that  is  nocturnal  ? 

Far,  far  away, 

On  tombstones  gray, 
Oblivion  drear  thy  light  creeps  over; 

Dark,  sad  and  prone, 

Crushed,  bound,  alone, 
Around  thee  still  my  soul  must  hover. 

My  thoughts  I  turn 

To  thoughts  that  burn 
And  tremble  and  glow,  to  seize  the  proof 

And  reason  why 

I  live  to  die; 
But  reason  and  proof  stand  far  aloof. 

I  move  along 
With  life's  dull  throng, 
Wrapt  in  the  mysteries  of  the  world ; 


CONTEMPLATION.  33 

The  more  I  climb 
To  realms  sublime, 
My  soul  from  heaven  is  deeper  hurled. 

In  souls  a-lull, 

The  light  burns  dull, 
Nor  fires  consume  the  peaceful  breast ; 

But  thoughts  at  strife 

With  this  dark  life 
Supply  the  flames  that  never  rest. 

I  turn  the  eye, 

And  wonder  why 
Cities  are  built  and  toil  is  endless  ; 

I  look  aghast 

At  swift  years  past : 
Cities  are  dead,  and  graves  are  friendless. 

Oh  weary  soul ! 
Where  is  the  goal 
For  which  you  long  and  pine  and  sorrow  ? 


34  CONTEMPLA  TION. 

Where  is  the  star 
That  shines  afar, 
And  cheats  you  ever  in  the  morrow  ? 

If  man  is  born 
This  world  to  scorn, 

And  still  to  give  the  senses  ease, 
Some  sphere  above, 
Some  realm  of  love, 

Must  all  his  hopes  at  last  appease. 


THE   COBBLER. 

|N  cellar  close  and  drear  and  dark. 

Beneath  the  sidewalk  low, 
I  see  the  cobbler's  busy  hands, 

I  see  his  steady  blow. 
His  body's  bent  upon  his  last, 
His  lamp  hangs  on  the  wall, 
And  in  and  out  he  whips  his  ends, 
And  plies  his  nimble  awl. 
Tip  tap,  from  sun  to  sun, 
Tip  tap,  the  night's  begun, 
And  he  has  work  that  must  be  done, 
Tip  tap. 

His  apron  's  spread  across  his  breast, 

Of  leathern  texture  strong  ; 
His  arms  are  bare,  his  sleeves  rolled  up ; 

His  feet  brace  tight  the  thong, 
35 


36  THE   COBBLER. 

Which  binds  the  last  between  his  knees ; 

His  pull  is  swift  and  long  ; 
And  now  the  pegs  he  hammers  in, 
Humming  a  little  song; 
Tip  tap,  from  sun  to  sun, 
Tip  tap,  the  night's  begun, 
And  he  has  work  that  must  be  done, 
Tip  tap. 

For  evening  chat,  a  crony  plods 

Adown  the  creaking  stair  ; 
He  naively  cracks  a  rustic  joke, 

And  forward  draws  his  chair. 
At  wit  the  cobbler  tries  his  skill, 

The  friendly  joke  to  floor; 
In  sounding  words  he  makes  retort, 

And  both  in  chorus  roar. 

The  current  news  is  now  discussed — 
What  men  have  said  or  done ; 

And  how  they  erred  in  this  or  that, 
And  where  thev  honor  won. 


THE   COBBLER.  37 

(The  best  and  fairest  he  will  be, 

Of  whom  it  can  be  said  : 
He  worked  to  give  a  fellow-man 

A  way  to  earn  his  bread. 
Much  closer  to  the  human  breast 

Than  all  of  glory's  store, 
Will  be  the  simple  words  :  "  He  found 

Employment  for  the  poor.") 


With  elbows  placed  upon  his  knees, 

And  fingers  raised  to  show 
The  nice  deductions  of  his  mind, 

The  cobbler's  reasons  flow  ; 
And  then  he  pegs  and  pegs  away, 
He  knows  the  minutes  speed ; 
His  work's  behind  the  promised  time, 
And  he  has  mouths  to  feed. 
Tip  tap,  from  sun  to  sun, 
Tip  tap,  the  night's  begun, 
And  he  has  work  that  must  be  done, 
Tip  tap. 


38  THE   COBBLER. 

Now  sound  befogs  the  lines  of  sense, 

And,  full  of  wisdom's  pride, 
On  reason's  back  he  rolls  a  weight, 

Which  reason  will  not  ride  ; 
But  down  all  in  the  dust  she  lies, 

Dust  of  an  empty  head, 
And  kicks  her  heels  against  his  tongue, 

'Till  his  kind  face  is  red. 

Feeling  a  pain  that  he  has  erred, 

He  stops  where  pride  begins, 
And,  holding  out  his  manly  hand, 

He  shows  how  goodness  wins  ; 
The  palms  are  joined  in  kindly  grasp, 

Contending  words  are  o'er, 
And  in  that  lock  of  cordial  love, 

True  friendship  they  restore. 

Now,  fumbling  through  his  kit,  he  finds 

That  solace  to  his  care — 
That  balm  between  two  cronies  dear — 

The  pipe,  which  both  may  share 


THE    COBBLER.  39 

The  smoke  now  curls  above  his  head, 

From  smacks  both  loud  and  full  ; 
Then  with  his  thumb  the  shank  he  wipes, 

With  "  Jim,  now,  take  a  pull." 

He  nods  with  pleasure  to  the  wall, 

Where  mended  boots  are  hung ; 
He  points  to  those  that  great  men  own, 

Whose  fame  has  long  been  sung. 
To  vamp  the  boot  that  honor  wears 

Is  fame  enough  for  him  ; 
Content  is  he  to  labor  on, 

Until  his  eyes  grow  dim. 

Despise  him  not,  ye  rich  and  vain  ; 

He  has  a  father's  care  : 
His  boys  and  girls  to  clothe  and  feed, 

A  wife  his  bread  to  share. 
Beneath  his  rough  and  homely  garb, 

A  manly  heart  and  true 
Beats  warm  with  all  a  father's  love, 

And  all  that  love  can  do. 


40  THE   COBBLER. 

The  pride  of  wealth  is  not  for  him, 

Still  less  the  pride  of  fame  ; 
They  are  the  thieves  that  rob  the  heart,. 

To  gain  an  empty  name. 
With  sky  above  and  earth  beneath, 

His  Eden  floats  between  ; 
And  life  is  bliss,  when  pride  and  state 

Are  not  with  envy  seen. 

* 

Some  day,  ere  yet  the  sun  is  up, 

Or  ere  the  sun  goes  down, 
The  crape  will  hang  upon  his  door, 

Unnoticed  by  the  town. 
Like  shadows  will  his  patrons  pass, 

And  turn  their  gaze  away, 
For  friendship  dies  between  our  sighs, 

When  friends  return  to  clay. 

Eternity  shall  guard  his  dust 
When  monuments  shall  fall, 

And  clouds,  the  breathing  of  the  moon,. 
Shall  myriad  time  recall. 


THE   COBBLER.  41 

A  man  was  he  of  artless  ways, 

To  Nature  always  true  ; 
He  ne'er  assumed  what  he  was  not, 

But  lived  for  what  he  knew. 


SONG   OF  THE   STORM   KING. 

|  LOW,  ye  winds  ! 

Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 
There  are  devils  above  and  devils  below  ! 
And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 

From  a  little  white  puff  of  an  argent  cloud, 
In  the  summer  I  spread  to  a  streaming  shroud  ; 
From  a  small,  dark  spot  on  the  horizon's  verge, 
In  winter  I  rise  to  a  national  dirge. 
I  stand  on  the  wreck  of  the  mariner's  deck, 
And  I  toss  to  the  waves,  at  the  north  wind's  beck, 
The  hopes  of  a  voyage  from  far  off  lands, 
The  wails  and  the  woes  and  the  wringing  hands ; 
The  babe  at  the  breast  and  the  piercing  shriek 
Of  a  wild,  mad  mother,  with  stony  cheek, 
The  father,  whom  time  has  bent  with  care, 
The  lovers,  whose  hopes  were  all  too  fair, 
42 


SONG   OF   THE   STORM  KING.  43 

I  hurl  them  away  on  the  billows'  foam  ; 
I  leave  them  to  Fate,  and  again  I  roam. 
Oh,  blow,  ye  winds  ! 
Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 
There  are  demons  above  and  demons  below  ! 
And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 

I  pluck  the  trees  from  their  steadfast  roots, 
And  fling  to  the  gale  the  boughs  and  shoots  ; 
I  fill  the  rivers  with  rushing  floods, 
And  with  spectres  fierce  I  crowd  the  woods  : 
They  are  groves  cast  out  on  the  turbulent  air, 
And  they  feed  on  the  wretches  of  mad  despair; 
The  steeples  I  throw  from  castle  and  fane, 
And  laugh  at  their  work  who  raise  them  again. 
Blow,  blow,  ye  winds  ! 
Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 
There  are  demons  above  and  demons  below ! 
And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 

On  my  feet  are  pinions  that  pull  the  hills, 
And  the  ropes  are  black  with  menacing  ills, 


44  SONG   OF   THE   STORM  KING. 

That  against  the  peace  of  the  stars  rebel, 
And  carry  from  heaven  the  woes  of  hell. 
My  beard  is  made  of  the  terrors  wild 
Of  houseless  mother  and  freezing  child, 
I  rush  over  towns  with  a  swoop  and  a  roar, 
On  hovel  and  castle  my  vengeance  I  pour ; 
I  knock  over  chimneys  and  houses  unroof, 
And  laugh  at  the  curses  I  get  in  reproof. 
Blow,  blow,  ye  winds  ! 
Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 
There  are  demons  above  and  demons  below  ! 
And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 


The  monarch  austere,  who  sits  on  his  throne, 
With  terror  I  shake  till  I  make  him  groan  ; 
All  his  squadrons  of  war  that  ride  on  the  wave 
I  send  with  a  blast  to  a  bottomless  grave. 
I  ravage  the  palace  that  stands  in  my  path, 
And  his  kingdom  I  sweep  with  the  hurricane's  wrath. 
With  woe  in  my  eye  and  black  fiends  in  my  blood, 
I  rush  upon  all  with  a  pitiless  flood. 


SONG  OF   THE   STORM  KING.  45 

I  seize  on  the  graves,  and  the  coffins  up-pull, 
And  toss  to  the  tempest  the  death-eaten  skull. 
The  head  that  to  none  but  its  maker  would  bend,     . 
The  limbs  that  no  longer  can  stand  and  defend, 
The  lips  that  had  scoffed  at  .the  meek  of  the  earth, 
The  eyes  that  once  rolled  in  the  pride  of  high  birth, 
The  brow  that  had  wounded  sad  hearts  by  its  frown, 
And  by  infamous  ways  had  sought  for  renown  : — 
All,  all  are  swept  down  in  the  torrent  and  gale, 
And  naught's  left  behind  save  a  dead  echo's  wail. 
Then  blow,  ye  winds  ! 
Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 
There  are  devils  above  and  devils  below  ! 
And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 


Wild  beasts  of  the  forest  I  drive  in  my  flight ; 
The  tiger  and  leopard  they  skulk  from  my  sight ; 
The  viper  and  vulture  seek  shade  from  the  blast — 
There's  naught  save  the  eagle  that's  game  to  the  last. 
When  armies  are  marshalled  in  battle  array, 
One  spurt  from  my  charger  will  set  them  at  bay. 


4-6  SONG  OF   THE   STORM  KING. 

I  am  foe  to  the  earth  and  foe  to  the  sun, 

And  from  mountain  to  sea  in  madness  I  run. 

Sad  havoc  I  make  on  the  hill  and  the  plain, 

And  I  throw  from  the  track  the  steam-rushing  train; 

The  maimed  and  the  mangled  I  leave  to  their  woe, 

While  upward  and  downward  and  onward  I  go. 

Through  palace  and  cottage  and  lady's  boudoir, 

I  rattle  and  battle  and  dismally  roar. 

Oh,  blow,  ye  winds  ! 

Blow  and  whistle  !     Whistle  and  blow  ! 

There  are  goblins  above  and  goblins  below  ! 

And  I'm  King  of  the  Furies  wherever  I  go. 


A  FRAGMENT 

WAS  near  the  banks  of  the  Ohio, 
Many  long  years  and  years  agor 
Sol  Clifford  lived  in  all  the  state 
Of  peerless  prince  or  potentate. 
From  where  the  Zahir  ebbs  and  flows, 
And  torrid  heat  forever  glows, 
His  slaves — sad  mortals,  all  untaught — 
To  his  fair  fields  bold  Clifford  brought. 
Unroofed  of  friend,  and  nil  of  name, 
A  sad-eyed  mute  among  them  came. 
That  she  was  dumb  the  mistress  kind 
Her  infant's  charge  to  her  assigned, 
And  told  her  how,  from  day  to  day, 
Around  the  lawn  she  'd  take  her  way, 
And  when  the  sun's  delirium  heat, 
Down  from  its  throne  might  fiercely  beat, 
She'd  seek  the  cooling,  leafy  shade, 
Along  the  mossy,  gentle  glade, 
And  there,  with  bird  and  bloom,  employ 
The  pleasure  of  her  cherished  boy. 
47 


48  A    FRAGMENT. 

It  was  a  winsome  sight  to  see, 

In  balmy  eve  upon  the  lea, 

The  tender  black,  of  massive  mold, 

The  tender  white  to  her  enfold  : 

To  watch  the  child's  soft  serious  eyes 

Gaze  on  his  nurse  with  large  surprise, 

Half-liking  this,  rejecting  that, 

With  pull  and  haul  and  giddy  pat  ; 

And  when  in  sport  her  head  threw  back. 

Her  nose  he  'd  seize  with  childish  knack, 

And  as  his  grasping  strength  he  wields, 

His  unctuous  grip  to  laughter  yields  ; 

And  now  his  pudgy  fingers  slip 

Over  her  rolling,  red-brown  lip  ; 

At  these  she  bites,  with  features  sour, 

As  if  all  anxious  to  devour, 

Between  the  music  of  her  coo, 

The  tips  she  nips  and  kisses  too. 

The  sail  that  sped  across  the  wave 
From  Zahir's  banks  to  Freedom's  grave, 
Conveyed  to  old  Kentucky's  shore 
A  fetich  priest  with  fetid  lore. 


A   FRAGMENT.  49 

O'er  yonder  hill,  through  yonder  pine, 
Is  seen  the  hoped-for  day's  decline. 
'T  is  now  the  hour  to  fetich  rites 
The  fetich  priest  his  fold  invites. 
With  oil  of  toad  and  serpent  greased, 
His  limbs  are  ready  for  the  feast : 
Around  his  brow  a  withered  snake, 
And  in  his  hand  a  rancid  hake, 
And  on  his  bosom,  bare  and  black, 
Filled  with  charms,  an  adder's  sack  ; 
And  from  his  ears,  projecting  out, 
A  weasel's  eye  and  fox's  snout ; 
And  on  each  arm  a  lizard's  head, 
And  on  his  feet  two  wagtails  dead, 
And  round  his  legs,  from  heels  to  knees, 
Corroded  forks,  and  knives,  and  keys  ; 
And  at  his  loins  the  paws  of  bear, 
And  dead  mice  matted  in  his  hair. 

He  leads  the  herd  with  solemn  brow, 
Then  slowly  turns  and  makes  his  bow, 
And  tosses  on  his  lifted  arm 
.A  mighty  and  mysterious  charm. 


50  A   FRAGMENT. 

The  eager  tyros  know  the  sign, 

And  round  the  caldron  rush  in  line  ; 

With  one  leg  up  and  one  leg  down, 

They  sing  and  dance,  and  shout  and  frown  ; 

The  caldron  boils  with  mystic  rites 

Of  superstitious  appetites. 

Twanging,  clanging,  around  they  trot, 

And  fling  their  sorcery  in. the  pot. 

As  higher  swells  the  caldron's  flame, 

The  frantic  serfs  cast  off  their  shame  ; 

Their  hot  spurs  snatching  from  the  fire, 

They  goad  the  colt  of  mad  desire  ; 

They  shout  and  scream,  hands  round  they  clap,. 

Their  tattered  raiment  rend  and  snap, 

And  to  the  blaze,  which  wider  spreads, 

They  fling  their  flitters  and  their  shreds, 

Till  male  and  female,  madly  rude, 

From  head  to  foot  are  beastly  nude. 

From  back  to  back  they  spring  and  leap, 

And  tumble,  totter  in  a  heap  ; 

They  scream,  they  bite,  they  maul  and  yell,. 

Like  furies  spewed  from  frightened  hell. 


A   FRAGMENT.  \ 

Now,  why  this  stare  and  sharp  surprise, 
Which  seize  upon  their  savage  eyes  ? 
An  ebon  cloud,  with  rosy  star, 
Their  swinish  revel  comes  to  mar. 
Night's  robe  is  rent  with  curse  and  hoot, 
For  yonder  walks  the  hated  mute, 
Whose  envied  ease  and  smiling  boy 
The  seething  bedlam  herd  annoy. 
On  passion's  brink  their  force  they  wage, 
And  lash,  in  headlong  craze,  their  rage  ; 
Their  fiendish  hearts  and  hands  are  wild 
To  quench  the  mute  and  seize  the  child, 
And  to  the  caldron's  flame  consign 
The  sole,  sweet  heir  of  Clifford's  line. 
It  is  a  moment  all  supreme 

A  dawning  truth  to  couch  a  dream. 
******** 

Over  the  wall,  across  the  mead, 
The  bloodhound  strains  with  pressing  speed. 
Now  quickly  here,  now  quickly  there, 
He  scents  the  ground,  he  scents  the  air  ; 
In  a  loose  web  of  hurry  wound, 
His  eager  nose  runs  round  and  round. 


52  A    FRAGMENT. 

The  horn  is  blown,  the  bell  is  rung, 
And  wailing  grief  o'er  beauty  's  flung. 
Now,  spurred  and  saddled  on  his  steed, 
.Sol  Clifford  arrows  hill  and  mead, 
Racked  by  the  quivers  of  despair, 

Which  drain  his  soul-love  everywhere. 
******** 

The  broadest  sphere  is  narrow-faced, 
And  the  great  world  all  tightly  laced, 
Under  the  horror  and  surprise 
Which  meet  the  awe-struck  Clifford's  eyes. 
His  frenzy  now  would  clutch  the  globe 
As  lightly  as  his  flowing  robe  ; 
For  what  is  there,  and  what  is  here  ? 
The  bounding  barb  rebounds  in  fear  ; 
The  frightened  eye  and  arching  neck 
Tight  reins  demand  to  hold  in  check  ; 
The  nostril  spread,  the  ramping  mane, 
Express  the  courser's  dread  and  pain. 

A  moan  is  heard, — a  troubled  sigh  : 
A  glance,  a  flash  from  Clifford's  eye  : 
The  mute  and  babe  together  lie. 


A    FRAGMENT.  53 

All  wakeful  to  their  pain  and  pangs, 
The  bloodhound,  doused  in  gory  fangs, 
Beside  them  crouched,  with  drowsy  leer, 
But  watchful  and  patrolling  ear. 
The  saddle  's  empty,  Clifford  stands 

With  his  sweet  boy  in  happy  hands. 
******** 

Ah,  smothered  conscience,  who  can  tell 
The  slaves  you've  dragged  from  earth  to  hell  ? 
The  halo  round  accustomed  crime 
Makes  fools  of  saints,  and  knaves  sublime. 


THAT  OLD,  OLD   SIGN. 


HERE  it  swings  from  the  wall, 
At  the  old  tavern  hall, 

That  old,  old  sign  ; 
There  it  swings  in  the  blast, 
With  its  memories  of  the  past, 
When  my  locks,  a  vesper  brown, 
Won  the  love-sighs  of  the  town, 
And  the  friendship  of  my  youth 
Was  the  fountain-head  of  truth. 

Five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
Ere  my  head  was  capped  with  snow, 
And  the  crow's-foot  round  my  eyes 
Made  me  time  and  age  despise, 
Wings  of  pleasure  bore  my  flight 
On  the  roving  winds  of  night, 
To  the  friends  who  loved  me  well, 
To  the  tales  we  loved  to  tell. 
54 


THAT  OLD,  OLD   SIGN,  55 

That  old,  old  sign, 
With  its  glass  of  ruby  wine  ; 
There  it  swings  from  the  wall, 
At  the  old  tavern  hall, — 
There  it  swings  in  the  blast, 
In  its  shadows  of  the  past, 
Moaning  at  my  gaze  beneath, 
Like  a  crone  that  's  lost  her  teeth, 
Asking  of  the  weary  wind 
If  old  comrades  it  can  find. 

But  the  wind  it  murmurs  low  : 
"After  summer  comes  the  snow, 
After  pleasure  comes  the  pain  : 
Pleasures  past  ne'er  come  again." 


LOVE  WITHOUT  THE  LOVER. 


|E  comes  across  the  daisies, 
Their  bloom  is  on  his  cheek  ; 


He  comes  across  the  daisies, 
With  glances  mild  and  meek. 

A  sweet  and  gentle  maiden, 
With  face  all  bright  and  fair, 

Beneath  the  blossoms  laden, 
Is  waiting  for  him  there. 

But  angels  see  their  meeting, 
But  angels  should  be  near, 

To  fill  the  air  with  greeting 
At  love  so  fond  and  dear. 

Beneath  the  blossoms  laden 
With  joy  they  sit  them  down, 

The  lover  and  the  maiden, 
All  in  the  evening  brown. 


LOVE    WITHOUT    THE  LOVER.  5/T 

They  pledge  their  love  forever, 

And  call  on  Heaven  to  see 
That  naught  but  death  shall  sever 

Two  hearts  so  young  and  free. 

On  dingle  flits  the  fairy, 

On  hillock  falls  the  gloam, 
True  signs  to  maiden  wary 

There  's  waiting  love  at  home. 

"To-morrow  he  '11  be  with  me," 

She  says  in  gleeful  tone  ; 
"  To-morrow  he  '11  be  with  me, 

And  the  priest  will  make  us  one." 

To-morrow  !  ah,  to-morrow  ! 

What  hope  is  on  thy  wing  ! 
What  bitter,  bitter  sorrow 

Thy  disappointments  bring  ! 

What  news  is  this  now  brought  her  ? 

What  cruel  tale  is  told  ? 
But  yesterday  he  sought  her  ; 

To-day  he  marries  gold. 


58  LOVE    WITHOUT   THE  LOVER. 

Her  eyes  are  red  with  weeping, 

Her  cheeks  are  blanched  with  care ; 

Her  lily  hands  are  creeping 
In  anguish  through  her  hair. 

Ah,  love  without  the  lover, 
What  desolation's  thine  ! 

No  hope  can  e'er  discover 
For  thee  a  true-love's  shrine  ! 

Ah,  love  without  the  lover  ! 

Ah,  sky  without  a  star  ! 
What  gloomy  shadows  hover 

Along  thy  midnight  bar  ! 

Like  sails  upon  the  ocean 

No  gentle  breezes  fill, 
The  loving  soul's  emotion 

Abides  without  the  will. 

Like  mist  upon  the  roses, 

When  sunlight  's  in  the  cloud, 

The  broken  heart  reposes 

On  love's  unhallowed  shroud. 


THE  VILLAGE   CHURCH. 

HERE  is  a  church  in  yonder  vale, 

I  feel  its  power  divine  ; 
It  makes  me  strong,  it  makes  me  hale, 
It  makes  my  doubts  decline. 

That  fane  is  white,  its  spire  is  bright, 
And  points  to  Heaven  above  ; 

It  fills  me  with  Jehovah's  light 
Of  Peace,  and  Truth,  and  Love. 

O  lovely  spot !  O  holy  place  ! 

That  all  my  soul  inspires 
To  love  my  God,  to  seek  His  grace, 

To  wake  my  pure  desires. 

When  heavy  skies  fill  heavy  hearts, 
And  gloom  surrounds  the  goal, 

*T  is  then  sweet  faith  in  Christ  imparts 
Calm  solace  to  the  soul. 
59 


60  THE    VILLAGE   CHURCH. 

If  wearily  this  earth  I  tread, 

Obedient  to  His  will, 
When  friends  are  fled,  and  dear  ones  dead, 

The  Lord  is  with  me  still. 

The  loved  and  good  ne'er  turn  to  earth  ; 

In  Heaven  alone  they  bide  ; 
In  God's  bright  home  they  have  new  birth,. 

And  life  that's  sanctified. 

Oh,  shield  me,  Lord,  from  shame  and  sin, 

As  guardest  Thou  yon  vale, 
That  I,  in  seeking  Heaven  to  win, 

By  no  misfortune  fail. 


EVERY  MAN  'S  A  BROTHER  MAN. 

(VERY  man  's  a  brother  man, 

Why  should  brothers  quarrel  ? 
Be  a  brother  to  a  brother  : 
Let  this  be  your  moral. 

A  helping  hand  to  fellow-man 

All  the  world  over  ; 
A  gentle  word  in  heat  of  strife 

Makes  a  foe  your  lover. 

A  fellow  heart  will  move  the  soul, 

A  fellow-love  will  guide  it ; 
Since  God  's  creator  of  the  whole, 

Oh,  why  is  man  divided  ? 

If  a  brother's  down  the  hill, 

Lend  a  hand  to  lift  him  ; 
Don't  be  sudden  to  condemn, 

And  on  shame  to  drift  him. 
61 


62        EVERY  MAN  'S  A   BROTHER  MAN* 

Be  a  brother  to  a  brother  ; 

Remember  that  to-morrow 
A  narrow  grave  will  close  upon 

A  life  of  pain  and  sorrow. 

In  the  wilderness  of  men, 

In  the  rush  and  render, 
In  the  bustle,  in  the  strife, 

Hearts  are  true  and  tender. 

Love  's  the  jewel  of  this  life  ; 

Bad  's  the  heart  without  it : 
Pity — pity — pray  for  him 

Who  would  scoff  or  flout  it. 

The  virtue  of  a  kindly  act 

Is  nobler  far,  believe  me, 
Than  all  the  laurels  fame  can  win, 

Or  fancy's  fingers  weave  me. 

Should  you  envy  wealth  or  state, 

Remember,  oh,  remember, 
That  Christ  our  Lord  was  poor  and  cold,. 

As  wipds  in  bleak  December. 


EVERY  MAN  'S  A   BROTHER  MAN.         63 

Folly  is  the  want  of  thought, 

Anger  that  of  reason  ; 
They  are  fools  that  should  be  crushed 

In  and  out  of  season. 

Strife  is  seed  that  's  full  of  ill 

Wherever  it  is  planted  ; 
Peace  and  love  is  holy  wine, 

From  holy  beaker  granted. 

Every  heart  has  care  to  bear, 

Every  minute  brings  it  ; 
Think  of  this  before  you  speak, 

Before  your  folly  wrings  it. 

Every  man  since  Adam's  day, 

Has  his  singularity  ; 
Human  nature  is  but  clay, 

Truly  blest  by  charity.    . 

Life,  unseen  's  the  life  of  man, 

That  's  the  world  we  live  in  ; 
What  is,  is  not  ;  the  future,  all 

Love  and  be  forgiven. 


64        EVERY  MAN  'S  A    BROTHER  MAN. 

A  speck  of  dust  upon  the  eye 
Shuts  out  the  light  of  heaven  ; 

A  little  stain  upon  the  soul 
Reduces  man  to  leaven. 

Be  a  brother  to  a  brother, 
For  the  world  is  frowning 

On  the  man  that  stands  aloof 

From  bright  friendship's  crowning. 

Here  's  a  hand  to  every  man, 

In  whatever  station  ; 
Here  's  a  tear  for  every  ill 

In  this  wide  creation. 

God  bless  all  !  's  the  prayer  of  him 
Who  weaves  these  little  verses  ; 

And  blest  he  '11  be  who  frequently 
Their  lesson  well  rehearses. 


A   FEW   BRIEF  YEARS. 

FEW  brief  years  and  I  shall  lie 

Beneath  yon  calm  and  peaceful  sky, 
Whose  breast  is  bright  with  notes  and  bars, 
And  laughing  music  of  the  stars, — 
Whose  bosom,  spread  from  pole  to  pole, 
In  silence  will  my  grave  console. 

With  straightened  limbs  my  shade  will  rest 
My  head  against  my  coffin  pressed ; 
And  hour  by  hour,  and  day  by  day, 
My  vapored  dust  will  pass  away. 

This  hand  that  writes  will  then  be  cold, 
And  shrunk  and  eaten  with  the  mold 
Of  time  and  death  and  dark  decay, 
Till  joint  by  joint  returns  to  clay. 
65 


66  A    FEW  BRIEF    YEARS. 

The  dread,  the  fear,  the  torment  sore, 
Will  rend  my  heart-strings  never  more, 
Nor  human  wiles  nor  worldly  strife, 
To  barely  win  the  bread  of  life, 
Will  ne'er,  within  my  narrow  bed, 
Disturb  or  wake  my  wearied  head. 

A  thousand  years  will  pass  me  by, 
Without  a  change  in  land  or  sky  ; 
Nor  winter's  snow,  nor  summer's  heat, 
Will  e'er  disturb  my  winding  sheet. 

At  evening's  close  I'll  meet  no  more 
The  smile  that  waits  me  at  the  door ; 
The  hills  and  dales  and  streams  will  be 
A  mute  forevermore  to  me. 

No  morn  will  wake  me  at  its  dawn  ; 
No  more,  on  mead  or  field  or  lawn, 
When  landscapes  smile  beneath  the  sun,. 
Will  romping  childhood  to  me  run. 


A   FEW  BRIEF    YEARS.  6/ 

O  happy  day,  these  eyes  will  close 
To  life's  contentions  and  its  woes, 
And  all  the  miseries  that  ban 
The  mystic  course  of  foolish  man! 

My  span  of  life,  my  humble  lot, 
Like  friendship's  vows,  will  be  forgot ; 
And  all  the  world  will  live  the  same 
As  if  I  never  had  a  name. 

Alas  the  dawn  !  It  leads  to  night. 
A  moment's  bloom  :  eternal  blight ! 
All  ends  attained,  ambition's  goal 
Is  but  the  sorrow  of  the  soul. 


I   SHALL   WRAP    ME   IN    DREAMS. 

SHALL  wrap  me  in  dreams  of  the  sweetest 

and  fairest, 

The  brightest  of  darlings  e'er  seen  on  the  earth  ; 
I  shall  wrap  me  in  dreams  of  the  choicest  and  rarest — 
The  rarest  of  beauties  since  beauty  had  birth. 

I  shall  toss  on  my  couch  until  closely  I  hold  her 
In  the  pride  of  my  heart,  in  the  joy  of  my  breast ; 

Though  her  jewels  and  laces  far  from  me  infold  her, 
All  the  night  by  my  side  my  own  darling  shall 
rest. 

The  cares  of  the  day  I  shall  leave  for  the  morrow, 
And  my  thoughts  in  love's  bosom  shall  calmly  re 
pose, 

While  from  me  depart  all  the  sin  and  the  sorrow, 
Till  my  dreams  are  as  sweet  as  the  balm  of  the 

rose. 

68 


I  SHALL    WRAP  ME  IN  DREAMS.  69 

O,  the  soft  down  of  love  shall  descend  on  my  pil 
low 

From  planets  of  angels  revolving  on  high  ; 
And,  soothing  and  full  as  the  midsummer  billow, 

Adored  in  my  arms  my  sweet  charmer  shall  lie. 

To  my  true  love  I'll  whisper  how  fondly  I  love  her, 
I'll  prove  it  with  kisses,  caresses,  and  sighs ; 

O,  there  is  not  about  her,  beyond  or  above  her, 
An  angel  of  grace  in  affection  so  wise. 

O,  there's  no  joy  on  earth  so  strongly  abiding 
As  dreams  of  my  dear  in  the  stillness  of  night ; 

0,  there's  naught  to  compare  to  love  sweetly  glid 
ing 
From  dreams  into  sleep  in  a  glory  of  light. 

Through  the  night  there's  a  seraph  above  my  bed 

beaming, 

And  she  steals  on  my  lips  a  kiss  and  a  smile ; 
And  I'm  bound  by  the  cords  that  are  spun  in  my 

dreaming 
To  an  angel  of  truth  in  whom  there's  no  guile. 


7°  I  SHALL    WRAP  ME  IN  DREAMS. 

And  so  let  it  be,  at  the  fall  of  Life's  curtain, 

When  the  last  ray  of  light  has  fled  from  my  mind, 

Though  the  hopes  of  my  dreams  proved  always  un 
certain, 
The  cords  of  my  dreaming  two  spirits  shall  bind. 


THE   DAY   IS   PAST. 

HE  day  is  past,  the  night  is  here, 
When  friendship's  tie  we  sever, 
And  she  we  love  shall  disappear, 
Returning  to  us  never. 

So  runs  the  world,  through  weary  years 
Ere  yet  our  joys  are  spoken, 

The  laughing  eye  is  dimmed  with  tears, 
And  tender  links  are  broken. 

O  sweetest  mouth  that  e'er  was  made 

To  kiss  a  parting  lover, 
O  fairest  cheek  that  e'er  was  laid 

Upon  a  downy  cover, 

My  life  you  twine  in  love's  embrace, 
Of  freedom  you  deprive  me, 

And  as  I  dwell  on  every  grace, 
To  love's  despair  you  drive  me. 


72  THE  DAY  IS  PAST. 

Your  spirit  floats  along  the  air, 
In  sunny  tides  I  find  it ; 

And  when  it  fades,  the  world  is  bare 
To  him  it  leaves  behind  it. 


IN   YOUTH. 

|N  youth  we  rested  on  the  hill  of  Hope, 

And  viewed  before  us  the  prospective  pleas 
ure; 

We  watched  the  warm  East  bathing  vale  and  slope 
With  rays  downladen  with  their  golden  treasure. 

There  came  a  shade  that  lent  a  tinge  to  sadness, 
Yet  made  the  soul  more  spiritually  bright ; 

She  took  my  hand,  and  in  a  voice  of  gladness, 
Pointed  to  where  a  bird  sailed  in  the  light. 

With  the  swift  waving  wing  that  skimmed  the  air, 
Upward  and  onward  my  heart  kept  time  and  mo 
tion, 
Until  a  cloud,  with  silvery  lining  fair, 

Concealed  the  bird,  and  blighted  my  devotion. 
73 


74  IN    YOUTH. 

The  noon  approached,  and  with  it  worldly  pain  ; 
We  labored  in  the  vale,  with  burning  rays  above 

us; 
Slow  moved  the  rook  across  our  field  of  grain, 

And  darkness  seemed  to  fall  on  those  who  cared 
to  love  us. 

On  the  Western  slope,  in  twilight  now, 

We  turn  with  sadness  to  the  night  behind  us ; 

The  care  of  time  is  fixed  on  either  brow, 

And  sighs  are  born  of  thoughts  that  but  remind  us. 

The  bird  that  sailed,  at  early  summer  morn, 
Behind  the  cloud  with  silvery  lining  fair, 

Was  youth's  bright  hope,  which  fled  from  us  with 

scorn, 
And  left  our  days  to  darkness  and  despair. 

The  rook  that  moved  across  our  field  of  grain, 
Bore  on  his  wings  the  blight  of  coining  years; 

But  still  to  me  there's  solace  in  her  strain, 
Who  raised  me  first  to  life  among  the  spheres. 


MY   SWEETHEART. 

Y  sweetheart  died  in  springtime's  morning, 

When  fields  were  fair  with  balmy  weather ; 
When  May  her  bosom  was  adorning 

With  daisies  sweet  and  blooming  heather. 

On  every  bough  a  bird  was  singing  : 
The  silky  sky  uncoiled  her  tresses  ; 

The  blithesome  lark  was  gayly  winging 
A  flight  so  bright  no  song  expresses. 

My  joy  went  out  to  greet  the  wooing 
Of  gentle  winds  and  laughing  roses, 

Their  fragrant  kiss  again  renewing, 
Till  summer's  door  the  winter  closes. 

No  mate  had  I  for  love's  caressing, 
No  mate  had  I  for  love's  embraces  ; 

The  gay-robed  May  wore  heaven's  blessing, 
Reflecting  back  my  lost  one's  graces. 

75 


76  MY  SWEETHEART. 

The  mead  was  green,  the  hills  were  rising 
In  liquid  air,  which  shone  around  them  ; 

And  Nature,  in  her  nice  devising, 

In  gauze  of  dreamy  pleasure  bound  them.. 

Then  lightly  stept,  the  green  grass  turning, 
A  fond  one,  fled  from  me  forever ; 

Then  on  the  sward  I  traced,  in  mourning  : 
"  The  grave  can  never  true  love  sever." 

In  hallowed  light  I  saw  her  kneeling, 

With  pallid  cheek  and  drooping  lashes.  .  . 

Against  a  ray  of  old  love's  feeling 
The  vision  leaned  and  fell  to  ashes. 

My  sweetheart  died  in  springtime's  morning, 
In  all  her  fair  and  guileless  beauty  ; 

Loving  her  kind,  no  creature  scorning, 
Her  sweet,  brief  life  was  simple  duty. 

Forever  now  a  sad  bird's  singing 
Amid  the  willows  of  my  sorrow  ; 

And  on  my  dreams  the  chime  is  ringing, 
"  A  better  life  will  dawn  to-morrow." 


OUR   COUNTRY. 


empire  of  the  world, 
The  first  that  leads  in  Freedom's  van, 
Thy  Stars  and  Stripes  shall  float  unfurl'd 
While  God  inspires  the  soul  of  man. 

Thy  hills  shall  shake  with  Freedom's  sound, 
Thy  valleys  quiver  with  the  shock, 

And  from  the  heavens  it  will  rebound, 
Again  to  peal  from  dale  to  rock. 

The  wild  Atlantic  leaps  with  pride, 
The  calm  Pacific  rests  in  glory, 

The  music  of  whose  flowing  tide 
Is  sweetly  tuned  to  Freedom's  story. 

Like  steel  that  binds  the  honored  oak, 
That  marks  some  spot  with  sacred  care, 

Our  country's  love  shall  ward  the  stroke 
That  would  this  hallowed  Union  share. 

77 


§  OUR    COUNTRY. 

Oh,  cherished  land  of  holy  fame  ! 

No  servile  foe  shall  dare  to  tread, 
While  breathes  one  breath  in  Freedom's  name, 

The  sacred  soil  where  martyrs  bled. 

Through  all  the  space  of  Freedom's  span, 

Liberty  knows  but  one  degree — • 
The  noble,  honored  rank  of  MAN, 

A  name  debased  save  by  the  free. 


HOPE   ON!     HOPE    EVER! 

JIFT  your  head  above  your  breast! 

Plant  your  foot,  and  raise  your  chest  !" 
Do  not  show  the  chicken  heart  ! 
If  a  man,  then  bear  your  part ! 
You're  not  here  to  be  a  slave  ! 
You're  not 'here  to  beg  and  crave! 
You  were  born  to  wear  the  crown 
Of  proud  manhood's  just  renown  ! 
Hope  on  !     Hope  ever  ! 
Surrender  never ! 

Should  disasters,  thick  and  fast, 
Strike  your  sail  with  every  blast, 
Raise  your  banner,  Faith  and  Will, 
And  with  Hope  your  canvas  fill. 
Let  your  course  be  honest,  true, 
And  that  bent  to  death  pursue. 
79 


HOPE   ON!    HOPE  EVER  I 

Never  fear  but,  come  what  may, 
You  will  find  the  truth  to  pay. 
Press  on  !     Press  ever  ! 
Surrender  never ! 

In  your  path  let  nothing  stand  ; 
Give  the  weak  a  helping  hand  ; 
He  that's  honored  in  this  life, 
Aids  a  brother  in  the  strife  ; 
On  the  breeze  it  goes  unfurl'd, 
One  good  deed  will  sway  the  world. 
It  is  noble,  fit,  and  kind, 
Human  woes  to  soothe  and  bind. 
Push  on  !     Push  ever  1 
Surrender  never  ! 

You're  a  man  of  kingly  height, 
When  your  course  is  in  the  right ; 
No  man  let,  however  great, 
To  your  manhood  dare  dictate. 
Only  tyrants  rule  the  slave  ! 
Only  God  controls  the  brave! 


HOPE    ON!    HOPE  EVER!  8 1 

Never  can  a  despot  rule 
In  a  land  of  Freedom's  school ! 
Strive  on  !     Strive  ever  ! 
Surrender  never ! 

From  the  soul  to  man's  estate 
Stretch  the  links  of  human  fate ; 
Let  the  soul  with  goodness  flow, 
That  the  burnished  links  may  glow, 
Till  the  mind  is  pure  and  bright 
With  a  love  of  truth  and  right  ; 
Till  the  heart  is  beating  strong, 
Crushing  every  human  wrong. 
Hope  on  !     Hope  ever  ! 
Surrender  never ! 


HOPE'S    ROSE. 

I'LL  make  me  a  bed  in  a  bunch  of  roses, 

At  the  rivulet's  feet,  where  the  waters  play  j 
And  I'll  lay  me  down  where  the  balm  reposes, 
From  the  shadows  that  followed  me  all  the  day. 

The  dew  on  the  vale  is  peacefully  falling, 
And  the  sultry  zephyrs  in  coolness  rest  : 

Long  memory's  roll,  in  its  sad  recalling, 
In  a  revery  soothes  my  feverish  breast. 

I  pluck  me  a  rose  from  those  that  I  rest  on, 
And  far  out  on  the  stream  I  fling  it  away : 

The  stream  of  my  dreams  my  life  is  a  jest  on, 

Which  rises  and  sinks,  like  yon  rose  on  the  spray. 

My  hopes,  as  yon  rose,  were  bright  in  their  morning,. 

And  high  on  the  wave  of  ambition  were  thrown  ; 
But  now  they  return,  no  glory  adorning, 

To  tell  me  the  rose  of  my  morning  is  flown. 

82 


THERE   IS   A   BRIGHT   SPOT    IN    THE 
SKY. 

[HE  dream  of  years  ofttimes  betrays 
A  golden  grief  over  golden  days — 
A  grief  which  chants,  on  memory's  shell, 
The  requiem  of  a  dead  farewell ; 
But  when  its  strains  grow  low  and  die, 
There  is  a  bright  spot  in  the  sky. 

With  all  life's  ills  I  am  content, 
If  well  my  days  are  daily  spent. 
When  phantoms  from  a  distant  land, 
Shall  come  and  lead  me  by  the  hand, 
Resigned  I'll  go,  without  a  sigh, 
For  there's  a  bright  spot  in  the  sky. 

Should  hearts  grow  cold  and  men  forget 
The  hand  that  placed  them  in  its  debt, 
Since  error  is  the  fate  of  all, 
And  some  will  stand,  while  some  will  fall, 
83 


§4      THERE  IS  A  BRIGHT  SPO  T  IN  THE  SKY. 

No  man  by  me  shall  prostrate  lie, 
While  there's  a  bright  spot  in  the  sky. 

This  world  is  good  to  him  that  lives 
Within  the  bounds  that  nature  gives; 
But  roses  bloom  and  roses  fade, 
And  brightest  jewels  have  their  shade  ;  ' 
If  gloom  surround,  then  gaze  on  high, 
And  find  a  bright  spot  in  the  sky. 

In  every  home  let  sunshine  dwell, 

On  every  face  let  kindness  tell, 

In  every  heart  let  peace  find  rest, 

And  should  pale  sorrow  wring  the  breast, 

Take  courage  then,  and  look  on  high  ; 

There's  still  a  bright  spot  in  the  sky. 

To  other  hearts  and  other  hands, 
To  other  climes  and  other  lands, 
The  coast  is  dark  along  that  main 
Whose  pilgrims  ne'er  return  again ; 
But  in  that  long  and  last  good-bye, 
A  star  will  guide  from  sky  to  sky. 


IN   YONDER   VALE. 

|N  yonder  vale  there  is  a  lowly  mound, 

Where  sleeps  forever  all  I  ever  found, 
In  this  strange  world  of  phantom  and  disguise, 
To  give  my  soul  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 

She  came  to  me  ere  love  was  known  to  death, 
When  joy  expanded  on  the  south  wind's  breath  ; 
An  angel  of  sweetness,  strayed  from  Heaven's  choir, 
To  light  my  soul  with  love's  divinest  fire. 

I  tire  of  love's  graces  now.     She  is  dead ; 

The  air  rests  heavy  on  me  as  of  lead  ; 

Ere  yet  my  days  have  reached  their  sunny  prime, 

I  totter  on  the  crutch  of  crumbling  time. 

When  beauty  roves  along  yon  silent  vale, 
And  reads  in  flowers  the  gentle  lover's  tale, 
This  low-pulsed  music  then  will  close  around — 
Our  deepest  sorrow  to  dead  love  is  bound. 

85 


AUTUMN   LEAVES. 

llS  now  the  hour  when  rays  decline 
On  withered  leaf  and  broken  vine, 
When  birds  fly  homeward  from  the  hill, 
And  leaves  drop  darkly  on  the  sill. 
O  leaves,  that  vernal  days  recall, 
Why  do  you  fall — why  do  you  fall  ? 

Across  the  woof  of  dusk  and  shade 

The  tawny  elves  disport  and  fade  : 

While  whispers,  swathed  in  love's  command, 

Would  lure  me  hence  to  fairy  land. 

O  leaves,  that  dear  old  friends  recall, 

Why  do  you  fall — why  do  you  fall  ? 

The  moaning  winds  bring  thoughts  to  me 

As  lonely  as  the  leafless  tree  ; 

Like  autumn  leaves,  my  day  is  passed, 

And  pathless  night  is  overcast. 

O  leaves,  that  life's  proud  hopes  recall, 

Why  do  you  fall — why  do  you  fall? 
86 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  8/ 

I  know,  alas  ! — now  that  I'm  old — 
To  me  the  world  is  strange  and  cold. 
What  by-gone  joys  it  will  renew 
To  join  my  friends  beyond  the  blue  ! 
O  leaves,  that  bosom  friends  recall, 
Why  do  you  fall — why  do  you  fall  ? 

Come,  silent  death,  and  take  your  fee, 

For  it  is  something  to  be  free — 

An  element  of  sky  and  sea 

In  boundless  immortality. 

O  leaves,  that  dreams  of  heaven  recall, 

Why  do  you  fall — why  do  you  fall  ? 

Ah,  joys  of  youth  and  tears  of  age, 
There  never  yet  was  priest  or  sage 
That  could  return  without  regret 
To  where  his  youth  and  manhood  met. 
.Shrines  on  my  head  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  my  soul  whispers  :  "  God  is  all." 


TAKE   BACK   THE   RING. 

JAKE  back  the  ring  thy  finger  wore,. 

It  ne'er  shall  circle  mine  ; 
Take  back  the  ring;  I'll  trust  no  more 
A  heart  so  false  as  thine. 

The  love  which  closed  in  blissful  sleep, 
To  dream  of  heaven  and  thee, 

Awakes  to  know,  but  not  to  weep, 
How  false  thy  vows  can  be. 

No  grief  shall  wring  my  trusting  breast,. 
No  pain  my  heart  shall  know  ; 

In  gentle  peace  my  soul  shall  rest ; 
No  tear  for  thee  shall  flow. 

The  heart  that  wins  a  morning  love, 

To  evening  loves  incline  ; 
As  stars  engage  us  from  above, 

When  meteors  round  us  shine. 


TAKE  BACK   THE   RING.  89 

Fresh  hopes  to  cheer,  thy  way  is  clear, 

'Tis  lit  with  flick'ring  joy  ; 
Return  to  her,  to  thee  so  dear, 

Nor  her  sweet  peace  destroy. 

Take  back  the  ring  thy  ringer  wore, 

It  ne'er  shall  sully  mine  ; 
I  loved  thee  once ;  I  plight  no  more 

At  thy  unhallowed  shrine. 


THE    EDITOR'S   GRAVE. 

| HE  sward  was  damp  with  falling  dew, 
The  moaning  wind  around  me  blew 
And  sadly  came,  from  wood  and  glade, 
A  dirge  for  him  so  lowly  laid. 

The  vault  let  down  its  sombre  gray, 
Night  turned  her  key  upon  the  day, 
And,  near  and  far,  on  moving  mote, 
My  dreamy  sorrow  seemed  to  float. 

As  floats  the  soul  when  death  is  near, 
And  pulse  is  low  with  ebbing  fear, 
.So  sped  my  life  at  every  breath, 
Which  closer  drew  me  into  death. 

As  weeping  makes  the  soul  divine, 
My  spirit  rose  from  its  decline, 
And  lay,  above  my  tears,  at  rest, 
.By  chastening  sadness  calm  and  blest. 
90 


THE   EDITOR'S   GRAVE.  91 

Ere  yet  the  shades  obscured  my  view, 
And  round  him  Gloom  his  mantle  drew, 
Upon  the  West's  entombing  roll 
I  traced  the  embers  of  his  soul ; 

And  in  the  tinges  mingling  there, 
I  saw  Life's  contest  with  Despair, 
And,  in  the  last  dissolving  ray, 
One  noble  spirit  fade  away. 

The  sun,  the  glory — all  is  past, 
And  buried  in  the  depths  at  last. 
What  recks  it  now,  his  labor  done, 
The  garlands  he  had  lost  or  won  ? 

By  honor  and  by  conscience  led, 
Truth's  halo  glowed  around  his  head, 
And  filled  his  pen  with  golden  light, 
To  brand  the  wrong  and  gem  the  right. 

On  a  world's  pulse  he  laid  his  hand, 
By  every  clime  his  thoughts  were  fanned  ; 
The  fibrils  of  his  jewelled  mind 
AVere  strained  in  glory  for  his  kind. 


92  THE  EDITOR'S  GRAVE. 

Oft  rising  high  to  God,  his  King, 

Heaven's  bending  arch  he  made  his  bo\vr 

The  lightning's  flash  his  pliant  string, 
And  sprung  his  thunder  at  the  foe. 

Against  the  wrong  his  touch  was  keen, 
Yet  bore  no  trace  of  vulgar  spleen ; 
He  ne'er  in  rage  his  weapon  broke  ; 
The  touch  was  stronger  than  the  stroke. 

Obscure  in  toil,  cheated  of  fame, 
He  loved  his  labor  all  the  same  ; 
He  knew,  whate'er  that  labor  cost, 
In  life  or  death  there's  nothing  lost. 

Here  lies  the  poor  neglected  scribe, 
Whom  no  man's  purse  could  ever  bribe  ; 
His  crown  of  glory  was  his  trust; 
His  dust  now  mingles  with  the  just; 

And  from  it  forth  the  rose  shall  spring, 
And  through  that  rose  the  zephyrs  sing  : 
And  o'er  it  rest  an  angel's  boon, 
As  calm  as  grave  beneath  the  moon. 


I    SHALL  RISE   WITH   THE   LARK. 

SHALL  rise  with  the  lark  at  the  break  of  the 

morn, 

With  a  garland  of  hope  that  the  day  shall  adorn  ; 
And  from  angels  above  joyful  rays  shall  descend, 
With  the  bloom  of  my  spirit  their  lustre  to  blend. 

From  the  rise  of  the  sun  to  the  wane  of  its  flame, 
I  shall  find  my  true  praise  in  the  lisp  of  my  name 
By  the  child-lips  I  love  ;  and,  whatever  betide, 
I  shall  keep  my  heart  warm  for  my  own  fireside. 

Fair  friendship  may  greet  me,  as  forward  I  go, 
And  fame,  for  the  moment,  its  guerdon  bestow  ; 
But  the  smiles  of  my  babes  are  more  dear  to  my  sou] 
Than  all  that  the  world  or  its  splendors  control. 
93 


94          /  SHALL  RISE    WITH    THE  LARK. 

As  the  rays  of  the  sun  are  the  light  of  the  earth, 
The  eyes  of  my  darlings  are  the  joy  of  my  hearth  ;• 
As  the  zephyrs  at  eve  breathe  balm  to  the  bowers, 
Sweet  songs  through  my  halls  shed  the  perfume  of 
flowers. 

Their  salvos  of  joy,  giving  strength  to  my  will, 
O'er  the  trials  of  life,  are  encouragement  still ; 
Nor  sorrow,  nor  torment,  with  me  shall  abide, 
While  I  keep  my  heart  warm  for  my  own  fireside. 

Should  my  fair  rose  of  morning  at  evening  decay, 
And  the  star  that  I  followed  decline  with  the  day, 
I'll  turn  from  a  world  which  is  mournfully  wide, 
With  a  heart  that  beats  warm  for  my  own  fireside. 

Let  home-love,  and  peace,  and  contentment  be  mine,. 
While  the  revel  I  shun,  and  the  quicksands  of  wine  ; — 
Let  me  think  of  the  mother  who  once  was  my  bride,. 
'Till  I  glow  with  the  charm  of  my  own  fireside. 


THE   GHOST   OF   CASTLE   MORR.. 

ROUD  Castle  Morr,  above  the  lake, 

For  centuries  stood  in  solemn  gray, 
And  round  its  brow  the  thorn  and  brake, 
Entwined  and  trailed,  as  chaplets  lay. 

From  cliff  and  tower  the  eye  might  range 
Along  the  breast  of  Scotia's  Isle, 

And  view,  amidst  no  cosmos  change, 
The  shaft  of  many  a  ruined  pile. 

Lord  MELMONT,  proud  of  blood  and  name,. 

Was  master  long  of  Castle  Morr, 
And  grandees  to  his  banquets  came 

From  sultry  Ind  and  frigid  Nor'. 

The  lights  were  lit  in  MELMONT'S  halls, 
As  evening  June  had  veiled  her  head  ; 

And  proudly  shone  along  the  walls 
The  symbols  of  the  glorious  dead. 
95 


96  THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE  MORR. 

The  shield,  the  mace,  the  mail  were  there, 
The  javelin,  bow,  the  swinging  glave  ; 

And  plaided  clans,  with  strong  limbs  bare, 
Smiled,  from  their  portraits,  on  the  brave. 

The  banquet  spread,  the  gallant  guest 
Is  bowed -to  place  around  the  board  ; 

The  bow's  returned  with  lofty  crest, 
And  manner  grave,  and  civil  word. 

And  fairest  dames  of  high  degree, 
With  melting  love  upon  their  lips, 

And  shoulders  bare,  and  bosoms  free, 
Advance   with  smiles  and  coyish  slips. 

And  DORAH  sweet,  the  nuptial  bride, 
With  curving  neck  and  regal  head, 

In  all  the  wealth  of  beauty's  pride, 
By  bowing  valor  forth  is  led. 

The  banquet  o'er,  the  song  went  round  : 
The  knights  sang  praise  of  woman's  love  ; 

The  ladies,  by  nice  favor  bound, 
Sang  Scotia's  lords  high  over  Jove. 


THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE  MORR. 

Now,  why  doth  MELMONT'S  face  grow  pale, 
On  this  his  eve  of  marriage  vows  ? 

What  low,  sweet  voice  floats  on  the  gale  ? 
What  sudden  pain  contracts  his  brows  ? 

A  soldier  proud  was  MELMONT  brave, 
Whose  valiant  deeds  on  India's  plains 

Sent  foes  in  legions  to  their  grave, 
And  gave  a  peace  to  broad  domains. 

When  battle  raised  its  rueful  head, 
With  waving  plume  and  sabre  bright, 

On  champing  steed  bold  MELMONT  led, 
With  Princess  SAHLA  at  his  right. 

When  "  Charge  the  foe  !  "  he  gave  command, 
And  quick  and  thick  the  missiles  flew, 

Fair  SAHLA  waved  her  dauntless  hand, 
And  from  her  zone  her  weapon  drew. 

She  fought  two  battles  locked  in  one  : 
While  courage  swept  her  to  the  foe, 

To  spur  and  cheer  her  troopers  on, 
Her  love  engaged  her  lover's  woe. 


THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE  MORR. 

Pale,  sunk  with  fear,  she  saw  the  bolts 
That  rang  in  air  round  MELMONT'S  head,. 

And  all  her  prowess  met  revolts 
In  sudden  darts  of  love  and  dread. 

Nor  laggard  shown  in  MELMONT'S  love  : 
Behind  the  window  of  his  thought, 

And  fierce  resolve  his  name  to  prove, 
Affection's  web  love's  weaver  wrought. 

Oh,  heavy  day  !  Oh,  luckless  charge 
That  bore  fair  SAHLA  to  the  van, 

Where,  fighting  on  the  battle's  marge, 
She  captive  fell  to  Hindostan  ! 

What  doom  awaits  this  lover  true, 
Who  fled  her  rajah's  royal  halls, 

And  from  a  Scottish  chieftain  drew 

That  love  whose  thraldom  disenthralls  > 

Deep  passion  now  was  mixed  with  pain 
In  MELMONT'S  ardent,  raging  breast ; 

But  well  the  soldier  could  restrain 
All  outward  sign  of  rude  unrest. 


THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE  MORR.  99 

The  Brahmin  plot  and  Hindoo  skill 
Returned  the  Princess  to  her  sire, 

Whose  kindly  breast  o'er  captious  will 
Could  never  of  affection  tire. 

As  fancy's  lamp  pursues  the  light 
That  floats  around  in  fiction's  mind, 

Through  gleamings  slight  of  hope  in  night 
His  love  sad  MELMONT  seeks  to  find. 

He  storms  the  shaman  priest's  retreat, 
He  storms  the  rajah's  frowning  wall ; 

He's  everywhere,  with  flying  feet, 
And  bulwarks  echo  at  his  call. 

Within,  without,  beyond  the  bounds 
Of  priest's  and  rajah's  stern  control, 

Swift  vanished  hopes  and  hollow  sounds 
Are  all  that  reach  sad  MELMONT'S  soul. 

Now  ten  long  years  their  tides  have  rolled 
Since  India's  air  his  brow  had  fanned — • 

Since  SAHLA  sweet  and  MELMONT  bold 

Their  love  and  life  had  pledged  and  planned. 


IOO  THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE   MORR. 

And  now  that  voice  again  is  heard, 
Despite  of  friends,  despite  of  foes, 

That  won  the  heart  of  Scotland's  laird 
Along  Himmaleh's  broad  plateaus. 

She  sings  the  song  he  loved  to  hear 
Below  the  stars,  when  winds  were  still, 

When  from  the  heart  there  swelled  a  tear, 
Which  rose  and  fell  at  music's  trill. 

A  gem  illumes  his  searching  eye — 
The  ring  he  gave  her  with  a  kiss, 

When  love,  like  waves,  rolled  mountain  high, 
And  all  the  world  was  vales  of  bliss. 

Now  darker  shades  rise  on  the  wall, 
And  whispered  words,  in  lighter  tone, 

Conjecture  forms,  and  keenly  fall 
On  fears  that  all  dislike  to  own. 

All  sadly  from  the  banquet  rose 
The  noble  host  of  Castle  Morr ; 

And  his  proud  heart  seemed  full  of  woes, 
Which  none  divined  the  reason  for. 


THE    GHOST  OF  CASTLE   MORR.  IOI 

Now  hurried  looks  meet  anxious  eyes, 
And  SAHLA'S  calm  and  gentle  mien 

The  scrutiny  of  all  defies 

Of  who  she  is  or  who  has  been. 

Her  olive  hands  and  olive  face, 

Her  liquid  eyes  of  Orient  hue, 
Her  gliding  step  and  languid  grace, 

Where'er  she  moved  could  all  subdue. 

She  quits  the  hall  with  gentle  ways, 
And  follows  fast  in  MELMONT'S  wake ; 

While  jealousy  the  bride  betrays, 
And  speechless  hurries  to  the  lake. 

The  kinsman  of  the  noble  bride, 

At  MELMONT'S  conduct  sore  enraged, 

Now  flash  their  dress-swords  from  their  side, 
And  hot  in  converse  stand  engaged. 

Their  words  are  few,  indignant,  strong ; 

From  what  they  heard  and  what  they  saw 
Of  DORAH'S  grief  and  MELMONT'S  wrong. 

Suspicion  feeds  on  lines  they  draw. 


IO2  THE   GHOST  OF   CASTLE  MORR. 

Enough  !  enough  !     Revenge  is  near  ! 

Through  lawn  and  bower  and  vista  fair 
The  pride-stung  nobles  search  and  steer, 

But  find  not  MELMONT  anywhere. 

There  is  a  room  in  Castle  Morr, 

A  secret  chamber,  quaint  and  grand, 

Which  few  e'er  knew  the  service  for, 
Save  he  whose  word  was  in  command. 

To  shield  her  from  undue  reproof 
By  tongues  unruly,  sharp  and  free, 

There  SAHLA'S  placed,  from  all  aloof, 
And  cautious  MELMONT  turns  the  key. 

Now  from  the  window  where  she  sits 
The  Princess  muses  on  the  night ; 

While  shadow  after  shadow  flits 
By  fern  and  fir,  within  her  sight. 

For  MELMONT'S  life  those  shadows  seek, 
And  for  his  life  he  boldly  stands, 

In  calm  defense  prepared  to  speak, 
And  fairly  meet  all  fair  demands. 


THE    GHOST   OF  CASTLE  MORR.  103 

But  passion  rules  the  omened  hour, 
And  fury  strikes  him  to  the  ground  ; 

Which  SAHLA  sees  from  yonder  tower, 
And  breaks  her  heart-strings  at  a  bound. 

Now  pity's  tongue  the  tale  will  tell, 
How  gentle  hands,  unknown  to  fame, 

Had  set  a  plant  where  MELMONT  fell, 
And  called  it  by  that  hero's  name. 

E'er  since  that  hour,  at  midnight  tide, 

A  curtain  of  the  blackest  lace 
On  windowed  Morr  is  drawn  aside, 

Disclosing  there  a  pallid  face. 

It  looks  a  minute  down  the  lake, 

It  glances  round  in  secret  pain, 
As  if  it  feared  some  foe  awake  ; 

And  then  the  curtain's  drawn  again. 

For  eons  folk  have  come  to  see, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  and  jagged  tor, 
'The  DORAH  lake,  the  MELMONT  tree, 

And  S  AH  LA'S  ghost  at  Castle  Morr. 


OH,  WEARY   COMES   THE   NIGHT. 

H,  weary  comes  the  night, 

But  sadder  still  the  morn, 
For  who  would  see  the  light 
With  love  that  is  forlorn  ? 

Then  die,  poor  lingering  flame, 
For  who  would  suffer  under 

The  mocking  of  love's  name 
When  hearts  are  rent  asunder  ? 

And  should  my  memory  wake, 
Love's  last  fond  look  revealing, 

Let  death  the  mirror  break, 
Its  joy  and  woe  concealing. 

Oh,  who  can  bear  the  pangs, 

When  love,  unfettered,  soaring, 
On  barb  and  breaker  hangs, 

The  sweets  of  life  outpouring  ? 
104 


OH,   WEARY  COMES    THE  NIGHT.          105 

Ah,  me,  to  feel  love's  pain 

Through  pride's  high  chambers  creeping ! 
Like  sunbeams  in  the  rain, 

Love  shines  while  I  am  weeping. 


TO    HER   SPIRIT. 

LITTLE  bird  flies  out  of  my  heart, 
A  bird  all  white  as  snow ; 
And  I  am  sad  for  the  void  she  leaves, 
A  void  none  else  can  know. 

Into  the  gloom  she  takes  her  way ; 

My  eyes  grow  dim  with  grief; 
Broken  the  shell,  empty  the  nest, 

And  faith  deserts  belief. 

I  call  to  my  bird  to  come  back  to  me, 

But  a  raven  comes  instead  ; 
And  over  my  soul  he  seeks  control, 

And  on  my  breast  his  bed. 

Far  up  in  yon  cloud  a  rift  I  see — 

I  see  my  love  go  through, 
On  angel  wings,  in  a  halo  divine, 

That  God  alone  should  view. 
106 


A   LOVE    THOUGHT. 

JJOVELY,  sweet,  and  gentle  maiden, 

How  fares  thy  heart  with  mine  ? 
Lovely,  sweet,  and  gentle  maiden, 
Fairest  star  in  fairest  Aiden, 
Oh,  dost  thou  know  I  pine  ? 


Bright  diamond  of  Love's  morning  dew, 

There  is  no  place  so  fair 
To  holy  love  and  joyful  eyes, 
And  sacred  thoughts  and  sacred  sighs, 

As  by  the  Delaware. 

The  lily  beats  against  my  breast, 

And  I  the  balm  inhale  ; 
But  as  I  reach  to  pluck  the  rose, 
Around  the  gem  the  petals  close, 

And  my  poor  efforts  fail. 


IO8  A   LOVE    THOUGHT. 

On  me,  from  thy  celestial  glow, 
Descends  the  trembling  ray  ; 
But  as  I  would  that  ray  control, 
And  light  the  chambers  of  my  soul, 
It  fades — it  fades  away. 

Come,  zephyrs,  from  my  love  afar, 

Come,  solace  to  my  care  ; 
Oh,  ne'er  through  perfumed  garden  strayed 
A  more  redolent  budding  maid 

Than  the  rose  of  Delaware. 


MY   DOLLIE. 

|HAT  is  my  sorrow  to  others? 

Who  weeps,  my  Dollie,  for  you  ? 
'Tis  more  than  the  grief  of  a  mother's 
That  pierces  me  through  and  through. 

Strangled  you  lay  before  me, 

Strangled  by  cruel  death, 
Before  one  thought  came  o'er  me 

That  you  were  robbed  of  breath. 

You  were  to  me  my  morning, 

Before  my  toil  begun, 
I  in  your  beauty  scorning 

All  toil  beneath  the  sun. 

My  angel,  I  loved  you  dearly, 

No  tongue  can  utter  my  woe ; 
My  angel,  I  loved  you  dearly, 

With  a  love  that  angels  know. 
109 


HO  MY  DOLLIE. 

You're  gone  forever,  my  darling, 

And  I  can  find  no  rest ; 
You're  gone  forever,  my  darling, 

And  left  me  a  bleeding  breast. 

Your  eyes  were  bright,  my  beauty, 
And  large  and  sweet  and  brown  ; 

Your  eyes  were  bright,  my  beauty, 
With  lashes  drooping  down. 

I  knew  your  talk  was  simple, 
And  I  saw,  when  you'd  begin, 

The  playing  of  the  dimple 
On  little  cheek  and  chin. 

Oh,  for  a  day  of  life  again  ! 

Oh,  for  an  hour  to  love  you  ! 
My  wretched  heart  will  break  with  pain* 

To  see  the  sod  above  you. 

O  snow,  be  kind  to  Dollie, 
She  tossed  you  on  her  hair  ; 

O  rose  be  kind  to  Dollie, 
For  she  was  sweet  and  fair. 


MY  DOLLIE.  Ill- 

Weary  and  sad  my  soul  is  gone, 

In  spirit  land  to  find  you, 
While  in  my  arms,  O  cherished  one, 

Unto  my  breast  I  bind  you. 

In  my  tearful,  bitter  sorrow, 

Hope  looks  trembling  to  the  day  ; 

Yet  from  grief  I  solace  borrow 
That  an  angel  leads  the  way. 


MISS  NIGHT. 

ISS  Night  she  is  a  winsome  lass, 
And  dresses  with  a  tidy  care; 


The  moon  she  makes  her  looking-glass, 
And  with  the  stars  she  braids  her  hair. 

She  frolics  over  Juno's  bars, 

With  silence  in  her  hidden  hand ; 

And  then  she  laughs,  and  flings  her  stars 
At  every  lover  in  the  land. 

She  dips  her  dark  limbs  in  the  sea ; 

Above  the  cloud  her  face  is  hid; 
Against  the  wind  she  bends  her  knee, 

While  seated  on  Aurora's  lid. 

The  broad  expanse  is  her  domain, 
Her  pinnace  is  the  scudding  gale ; 

Restraining  which  she  sets  a  chain 
Of  dappling  waves  against  her  sail. 

112 


MISS  NIGHT.  113 

Behind  the  gauze  that  floats  between 
Her  gown  of  black  and  hood  of  gray, 

What  would  be  seen  remains  unseen, 
And  passes  to  a  brighter  day. 

And  thus  the  light  that  follows  hope, 
Our  doublings  veil  it  from  the  eye ; 

And  here  in  darkness  man  must  grope, 
Since  light  of  faith's  beyond  the  sky. 


SPEAK   TRUTH. 

|  PEAK  truth  and  sense,  or  silent  still  remain, 
Nor  edge  your  words  to  give  your  neighbor 

pain. 

By  honest  art  must  man  for  man  be  used ; 
By  brutish  man  is  only  man  abused. 

Before  you  speak,  be  satisfied  the  soul 

Is  in  full  sympathy  and  full  control ; 

Temper  too  oft  the  thoughtless  voice  succeeds, 

And  shames  the  soul  by  wrong  and  foolish  deeds. 

Wild  are  the  words  that  on  mad  passion  fly ; 

Like  sparks  they're  uttered,  and  like  sparks  they  die. 


114 


THE   COMMUNIST. 

|HAT  wealth  is  stealth  is  now  the  cry, 

And  rogues  are  they  that  keep  it ; 
And  he's  a  knave  who'd  plot  and  try 
To  raise  and  hoard  and  heap  it. 

His  house  or  bed,  his  coat  or  hat, 
He  should  assign  or  lend  it ; 

What  right  has  he  to  this  or  that, 
If  he  can  not  defend  it  ? 

The  right  of  one  is  right  of  all, 
The  learned  tramp  well  knows  it ; 

If  with  a  blow  the  rich  must  fall, 
The  sportive  wight  bestows  it. 

When  fever  maddens  in  the  veins, 
We  soothe  and  cheat  and  nurse  it ; 

'Twould  only  aggravate  our  pains 
To  rage  and  rave  and  curse  it. 
"5 


-II 6  THE    COMMUNIST. 

But  mortals  make  the  error  strange, 
To  right  a  wrong,  misuse  it ; 

It  is  within  true  wisdom's  range, 
Its  life  is  to  abuse  it. 

From  end  to  end  this  land  is  free 
To  those  who  would  enjoy  it , 

And  he's  a  knave  of  low  degree 
Who'd  labor  to  destroy  it. 

He's  but  a  slave  who  would  complain, 
With  hands  and  health  to  lift  him ; 

For  patient  work  will  comfort  gain, 
And  forward  ever  shift  him. 

Know  this,  ye  men  of  sloth  and  woe, 
And  to  your  faith  ye  pin  it : 

The  rank  of  him  is  never  low 
Who  has  the  brain  to  win  it. 

A  day  will  tell  the  all  of  life, 

There's  nothing  for  the  morrow  ; 

'Tis  mind  that  suffers  in  the  strife, 
And  bears  the  weight  of  sorrow. 


LINES   TO  A   FRIEND. 

Y  heart  is  sad  to-night,  my  friend, 

And  I  am  bent  with  care ; 
The  sorrows  that  with  memories  blend, 
Make  life  too  hard  to  bear. 

I  've  had  my  day  !  I  Ve  run  my  race  ! 

My  life  is  aimless  now ; 
And  all  its  woes  my  fingers  trace 

In  furrows  on  my  brow. 

Old  friends  are  dead,  or  scattered  wide, 

Across  the  world's  domain  ; 
Nor  day  nor  night,  nor  time  nor  tide, 

Will  bring  them  back  again. 

My  dreams  of  youth — long  past  and  gone- 

I  would  not  now  recall ; 
For  time  has  made  me  old  and  wan, 

And  I  but  wait  my  fall. 
"7 


118  LINES    TO  A    FRIEND. 

No  tears  shall  damp  my  faded  cheek, 

No  joy  shall  fill  my  breast ; 
This  world  has  naught  that  I  would  seek, 

I  only  long  for  rest. 


KINGS   ARE   MADE   BY   SLAVES. 

j  EN  of  living  thought,  awake  ! 

Men  of  will  and  brain  and  nerve  ! 
Chains  which  gall  your  freedom,  break  !    . 

Scorn  the  hands  a  despot  serve  ! 
Let  the  voice  of  Freedom  ring : 
Only  slaves  can  make  a  king. 

Man  was  born  of  Nature's  God, 

Not  a  thing,  at  tyrant's  call, 
Not  a  crouching,  fawning  clod, 

Asking  leave  to  lick  and  crawl. 
Let  insulted  manhood  vow  : 
None  but  slaves  to  despots  bow. 

Come  you  from  a  slavish  land, 
Where  to  king  you  bent  the  knee  ? 

Touch  not,  serf,  a  freeman's  hand, 
Till  repentance  makes  you  free. 
119 


120  KINGS  ARE  MADE  BY  SLAVES^ 

He's  a  slave  in  heart  and  soul 
Who  will  suffer  king's  control. 

Where's  the  vigor  of  your  blood, 
Crouching,  cringing,  fawning  dog? 

Are  your  veins  but  sluggish  mud  ? 
Is  your  head  a  brainless  log? 

Let  the  cry  of  freemen  ring : 

Dogs  alone  obey  a  king. 

See  yon  slave  in  want  and  rags  ! 

See  him  cower  and  bare  the  head, 
As  his  brazen  despot  wags, 

Struts  and  shakes,  with  pompous  tread. 
Weep,  O  Manhood,  at  the  sight ! 
Serfdom  base,  and  ravished  right ! 

God  of  Patience !  see  the  slaves 
Marshalled  forth  in  bold  array, 

Bearing  arms  to  fight  for  knaves  ! 
Murd'ring  men  for  hireling  pay  ! 

Hear  the  air  with  God's  voice  ring  : 

"  None  but  slaves  can  make  a  king." 


KINGS  ARE  MADE  BY  SLAVES.  121 

What  you  are  let  tyrants  know ; 

Do  not  act  the  craven  slave ; 
Stamp  your  mettle  with  a  blow 

On  the  head  of  kingly  knave. 
Be  whatever  else  you  can, 
But,  for  Christ's  sake !  be  a  MAN  ! 


THE   FIRE. 

lARK  !— that  knell ! 

What  means  that  bell  ? — 
That  rousing  swell? 
It  dies,  it  sinks  in  parted  links. 

Again  it  thrills  !  Again  it  fills  ! 
Waking,  shaking,  leaping  higher, 
In  a  flaming  tongue  of  fire. 

See  the  smoke  !     See  the  cloud ! 
Darker,  denser,  wider  growing, 
Rising,  falling,  sweeping,  blowing. 

Swift  and  eager  come  the  crowd, 
Rushing,  pushing,  shouting,  yelling, 
Love  to  save,  each  bosom  swelling — 
Swelling,  swelling,  swelling ! 


THE  FIRE.  123 

Place  the  engine  !     Seize  the  hose  ! 
Let  the  water  boldly  float 
On  the  fiendish  fiery  foes, 
And  the  engine  puff  her  throat. 

Oh,  the  flames !     Oh,  the  flames ! 
Winding,  wafting,  twisting,  turning, 
Cracking,  scorching,  blazing,  burning  ! 
Burning,  burning,  burning ! 

Hear  those  names !     Hear  those  claims  ! 
Save  me,  father  !     Save  me,  mother ! 
Sister,  save  me  !     Save  me,  brother  ! 

Raise  the  stream  !     Raise  the  stream  ! 
Love  and  life  are  sinking,  failing, 
Midst  seas  of  flame  there's  loud  bewailing, 
Whilst  daring  hearts  the  walls  are  scaling, 
Scaling,  scaling,  scaling! 

Hark,  that  cry !     Hear  that  sigh  ! 
Oh,  that  scream !     Horrors  teem ! 
Mailed  in  might,  stout  hearts  are  wielding 
Axes  bright,  from  danger  shielding 
Life's  last  throbs  nigh  before  they  die. 


124  THE  FIRE. 

Oh,  the  clashing !  oh,  the  crashing  ! 
Madly  rising,  tearing,  dashing, 
Wildly  flouncing,  flaring,  flashing, 
Red  flames  lash  the  broken  sash. 

Hark,  hark,  within — a  breath,  a  din  ! 
Groaning,  moaning,  clinging,  grasping, 
Life  on  fire,  a  fireman  clasping  ! 
Clasping,  clasping,  clasping  ! 

Now,  now  you  see  the  flames  are  free ! 
Spouting,  spreading,  waving,  soaring, 
Plunging,  tossing,  raging,  roaring, 
In  one  hot  sea  of  dread  decree. 

The  high-raised  throws  from  spurting  hose, 
Tending,  bending,  warping,  winding, 
Seeking,  chastpg,  meeting,  blinding 
Each  blast  that  blows  from  fiery  foes. 

O  God,  that  wall !     That  prayer,  that  fall ! 
Ruin,  wreck,  and  desolation, 
Ravage,  waste,  and  devastation, 
Spread  Death's  sad  pall  dark  over  all. 


THE   FIRE.  I25 

Was  it  a  beam,  or  brick,  or  stone 
Tore  here  the  flesh,  broke  there  a  bone? 
Matted  and  moiled,  floats  here  and  there, 
Clotted  with  blood,  a  tuft  of  hair. 

Look  on  that  head !     See  where  the  beam 
Bared  to  the  scalp,  and  round  the  seam, 
Uprooted,  loose,  flying  away, 
Hair  by  hair,  wherever  it  may. 

That  lurid  glare  !     That  ghastly  stare  ! 
Bruised,  maimed,  and  gashed,  soiled,  stained,, 

and  broken, 
Of  former  looks  scarce  left  a  token. 

Could  those  lips  speak,  how  they  could  tell 
Of  direful  woe  and  fortune  fell ! 
For  mother's  grief  those  eyes  have  shed  ; 
For  brother's  pain  that  still  heart  bled. 

As  on  that  shattered  form  I  gaze, 
Where  deepening  gloom  emits  its  rays, 
Where  life  might  linger,  yet  is  not, 
I  waver  in  man's  future  lot. 


126  THE  FIRE. 

On  that  brow  a  thought  is  molded, 
On  those  lips  a  word  lies  folded  ; 
Immortal  word — immortal  thought ! 
What  seraph  fleet  the  whisper  caught? 

What  now  is  light  or  gloom,  or  earth  or  air. 

To  that  wild  stare  ? 

Or  friend  or  foe,  or  joy  or  woe, 

Or  frown  or  smile,  or  trust  or  guile, 

To  that  dead  glare  ? 

Peace  rests  but  in  the  tomb. 


FRIENDSHIP   AND   LOVE. 

[HE  heart  is  peopled  by  friendship's  eye 

The  soul  is  moved  by  love ; 
Under  the  sky  all  friendships  die ; 
Love  ever  glows  above. 

Friendship  is  nothing,  love  is  all ; 

The  world  was  dead  when  love  was  born  i 
Love  is  the  soul,  which  flees  our  fall ; 

Friendship  was  made  for  love  to  scorn. 


127 


JAMES    T.    BRADY. 

|00  soon,  alas  !  the  link  is  broken, 

Too  soon  the  days  of  friendship  o'er; 
Too  soon,  oh  death  !  it  must  be  spoken, 
Our  own  dear  BRADY  is  no  more. 

The  summer  heat  will  come  and  go, 
The  rolling  surge  will  spend  its  spray, 

And  gentle  winds  will  softly  blow 
Along  the  beach  of  Rockaway  ; 

But  not  for  him  who  paced  its  shore, 
In  love  to  hear  its  breaker's  sound  ; 

He'll  see,  alas !  that  beach  no  more, 
No  more  his  footprints  there  be  found, 

Farewell,  my  friend  of  hand  and  heart, 
Above  thy  grave  let  daisies  bloom  ; 

The  strain  which  drew  our  souls  apart 
Bowed  love  and  sorrow  at  thy  tomb. 

128 


JAMES    T.  BRADY.  I2C) 

Thou  wert  the  idol  of  thy  race  ; 

Genius  was  jealous  of  her  son, 
And,  finding  none  to  fill  thy  place, 

She  claimed  the  laurels  thou  hadst  won. 


DO   NOT  ASK   ME. 

|0  not  ask  me,  pet,  I  pray, 

Why  I  linger,  why  I  stay  ; 
There's  no  longer  left  for  me 
Face  or  form  I  care  to  see, 

Save  one  image  in  my  heart, 
Save  that  figure's  counterpart, 
Which,  as  cup  of  rosy  wine, 
Makes  my  life  and  love  divine. 

Absence  never  friendship  killed, 
Love  reflected,  never  chilled  ; 
Therefore,  sweet,  this  maxim  hold,. 
And  thy  love  will  ne'er  grow  cold. 

Love  is  nectar,  nectar's  love, 
As  my  lips  to  thine  will  prove — 
Prove  like  roses,  tip  to  tip, 
With  love's  dewdrop  on  each  lip. 
130 


DO  NOT  ASK  ME. 

If  my  passion  I  repress, 
Do  not  think  I  love  thee  less  ; 
In  its  furnace  thou  shalt  find 
It  has  left  the  dross  behind. 

Love  is  fancy  in  undress, 
Warm  to  touch  and  hot  to  press  ; 
And  that  fancy,  velvet-toed, 
Makes  my  heart  a  beaten  road. 

Do  not  ask  me,  pet,  I  pray, 
If  my  love  has  died  away  ; 
While  I  dwell  upon  my  fair, 
Such  a  question  is  despair. 


ADIEU. 

[HOUGH  cold  the  word,  it  must  be  spoken, 

Though  crushed  the  heart  and  deep  the  sigh; 
Though  every  chord  of  friendship's  broken, 
At  last  it  comes — the  low  good-by. 

Sadder  than  death  that  word  to  me, 
Sadder  than  dreams  beyond  the  grave  ; 

Yet  in  its  sound  I  know  I'm  free, 
Ah,  free  to  be  my  freedom's  slave. 

Our  happy  days  our  sorrows  count, 

Pleasure's  the  measure  of  our  pain, 
And  dreams  of  youth  the  flowing  fount 

That  pours  those  sorrows  back  amain. 

When  winds  were  light  and  days  were  bright, 
There  came  no  breath  our  joys  to  mar  ; 

I  knew  no  morn,  I  knew  no  night, 
You  were  to  me  a  noonday  star. 
132 


ADIEU.  133 

But  time,  ah,  time,  what  changes  bring  ! 

What  mysteries  strange  we  leave  behind ! 
Like  ivy  old,  sad  memories  cling 

Around  the  ruins  of  the  mind. 

Memory,  through  its  mist  of  years, 

Like  struggling  moonbeams  through  the  cloud, 
Or  fitful  light  through  pressing  tears, 

In  mockery  gleams  above  my  shroud. 

While  still  to  me  the  world  seems  fair, 

And  nature  fresh  in  all  its  bloom, 
I  nurse  the  reptile  of  despair, 

I  live  but  in  the  future's  gloom. 

My  hopes  in  life  forever  gone, 

The  joys  of  youth  long  past  recall, 
A  mournful  waste,  I  still  live  on, 

Nor  caring  now  how  soon  I  fall. 

Farewell,  dear  friend — it  must  be  said  ; 

The  time  has  come  for  you  and  me 
To  lay  our  friendships  with  the  dead, 

And  life  resign  to  fate's  decree. 


SELF-COMMUNING. 

(ERE  I  stand  upon  Eternity's  verge, 

The  All-Unknown,   whose  sombre  depth  is 

space, 

And  the  wind  its  walls.     For  that  light  I  ask 
That's  more  than  day.     It  coldly  shuns  my  quest ; 
While  on  me  fall  the  vastness  and  distress 
Of  nothingness.     Within  me  rules  the  spirit 
Of  unrest,  as  on  flouting  time  is  breathed 
The  substance  of  my  life — a  boon  no  more 
Shall  I  reclaim,  if  fitful  life's  a  boon 
To  him  that  spurns  its  narrow  paths  and  curbing 
Bounds.     The  universe  is  but  the  purse-string 
Of  my  thoughts,  which,  from  the  vast,  no  conclu 
sions 

Draw,  save  that  I  am  an  atom  ;  of  what, 
I  know  not  ;  for  what,  I  know  not ;  nor  can 
The  mind  reveal.     The  gray  frost  of  scoffing 
Years  has  passed  behind  my  destination, 
134 


SELF.  CO  MM  UN  ING.  1 3  5 

And  still  all  shapes  their  mysteries  hug,  and  darker 
Spread  the  vail.  There's  naught  defined  or  reason 
Tuned.  'Gainst  my  judgment's  eye  a  world  ot 

worlds 

Is  set.     No  word  had  I  in  my  creation. 
Since  die  I  must,  why  should  I  first  exist  ? 

Why  this  earth's  probation  of  pain,  and  doubt, 

And  longing  ?     Why  was  I  first  born  to  earth, 

And  not  to  heaven  ?     Yet,  if  joy  is  not  alloy 

Without,  wherefore  Paradise  ?     Alloy's  the  salt 

Of  listless  ease,  and  phlegm,  and  sloth,  as  air 

Conditions  all  the  solar  heat.     Without 

An  opposite,  naught  can  be  discerned. 

The  world  is  ruled  by  negatives.     Alone 

By  negatives  is  harmony  produced  ; 

Negative  is  man,  negative  is  space, 

Negative  is  every  aspiration. 

The  cold  must  temper  heat,  and  heat  the  cold. 

'Tis  opposition  in  the  elements 

That  tills  the  earth  and  feeds  its  plants  and  flowers. 

Opposite  are  all  nature's  primal  laws. 

Alone  from  this  are  love  and  worship  born 


136  SELF-COMMUNING. 

Between  the  sexes.     Nor  love  nor  worship 
Elsewhere  can  be  proved.     Man  can  not  worship 
Man  ;  nor  woman,  woman.     We  can  not  feast 
On  that  we  do  not  eat.     We  can  not  worship 
That  we  have  not  seen.     The  magnet  eye  alone; 
Draws  worship  to  the  soul.     Diverging  types 
Alone  converge  to  nature's  will  and  law. 
Is  heaven,  then,  a  place  for  languor  and  decay  t 
The  name  is  false — a  bribe  to  ignorance, 
To  act  an  honest  part  to  all  mankind, — 
A  duty  born  to  all,  save  brutish  breasts. 

Within  my  mental  vision  I  find  no  ray 
Its  light  to  shed  upon  abysmal  thought. 
The  sun  and  moon  are  orbs  that  give  me  light ; 
My  friends  they  are,  and  yet  I  know  them  not. 
Relief  I  find  along  the  spirit  air; 
It  comes  from  good  men's  prayers.     Still  I  know  it 

not; 

While  into  human  or  angelic  figure 
Mold  it  I  would,  and,  in  speech  full  earnest, 
Entreat  its  inspiration  and  advice. 

The  rugs  and  wraps  of  summer  winds  protect 


SELF-COMMUNING.  137 

Me  from  the  solar  heat  and  cool  my  blood. 
Space,  the  food  of  winds,  has  knowledge  of  me  ; 
Space  gives  me  to  the  winds  to  soothe  or  chill ; 
The  winds  know  me — not  I  the  winds — because 
They  nip  or  fan  me,  which  I  can  not  requite. 

O,  dream  of  dreams,  my  dream  in  mystic  life  ! 
That  floats  me  midway  in  soft  and  stoic 
Air,  in  trance  or  spell  divine,  disjoining 
Soul  from  body,  all  mundane  thought  from  rest 
Supernal,  till  the  breath  of  Jove  with  incense 
Fills  my  soul !     O,  solace  of  mystic  dreams, 
Which  all  unrobes  rne  of  my  leaden  cares  ! 
Sweetness,  and  balm,  and  joy  are  thine  to  give  ; 
Sweetness  and  perfume  from  thy  budding  lips 
Dilate  my  soul,  and  waft  my  senses  high  ! 
Bright  as  seraph  that  sheds  a  light  from  heaven 
On   him   whose   dreams   are  stretched  beyond  the 

spheres ! 

Fragrant  and  rare  as  spiced  winds  from  the  South  ! 
Joy  of  my  spirit,  mystic  life  thou  art  ! 
Charmed  is  the  balm  thy  dulcet  dreams  impart. 
From  whence  come  thy  delights  I  crave  to  know. 


138  SELF.  CO  MM  UN  ING. 

Thou  touchstone  of  my  soul's  divinity  ? 
They  come  in  the  morn,  ere  the  voice  of  man 
Shake  and  dispel  the  slumber  of  the  air  ; 
They  come  at  eventide,  when  the  silent  dew 
Descends,  as  a  blessing,  on  the  hot  robes 
Of  retiring  day  ;  and  they  come  when  all 
The  flowing  drapery  of  the  sky  is  spread 
Before  its  mirror,  that  vestal  nun,  the  moon. 
In  them  I  find  an  inspiration  found 
Not  in  books  of  best  and  wisest  men. 
A  glory  to  my  senses  the  roses 
Of  mystic  life  expand,  and  the  inmost 
Chambers  of  my  soul  are  tenanted  with 
Seraphim,  reposing  on  beds  elysian. 
Unbless  me  of  this  dream,  and  I  am  naught, 
Save  a  speck  in  fortune's  eye,  by  sullen 
Doubts  tossed  upon  reflection's  tear  and  woe. 

Unknown  life,  filled  with  fancies  and  with  shrouds, 
And  dark  creations,  which  are  fiends  fantastic 
To  my  truer  self,  and  into  wizard 
Sadness  awe  me,  and  self-desertion,  till, 
.In  the  strength  of  my  weakness,  I  am  lost. 


SELF-COMMUNING.  139 

While  conscious  weakness  nurses  force  and  will, 
Man  is  the  shadow  ;  and  the  shadow,  man. 
By  himself,  not  of  himself,  he  lives,  moves, 
Thinks,  and  dreams,  and  steeps  and  melts  his  hours 

away. 

His  pith  is  weakness  in  his  maddened  rage  ; 
And  a  fly's  wing  might  his  wild  passion  rule. 

Turning  to  youth,  I  gaze  upon  his  face. 
His  bright  eyes  glow  with  innocence  and  joy ; 
His  silken  locks  inspire  the  air  with  zephyrs 
Heavenly.     He's  all  divine  from  heaven's  hand. 
His  beauty  brings  me  grief,  for  that  beauty 
Will  not  last.     Care  and  trouble  too  soon  will 
Come,  to  rain  their  misery  upon  his  brow. 
Oh,  the  gloom,  the  sadness,  and  the  longing  ! 
The  dawn — the  light — the  nothing  ! 
Oh,  heart  !  oh,  soul !     Where's  that  joyful  kingdom 
Of  my  days,  o'er  whose  flowery  lawns  and  vistas 
Fair  the  winds  from  heaven   my  breast  with  music 

thrilled  ?— 

When  to  the  fulness  of  its  glory  rose 
My  soul,  in  the  joy  of  its  sovereignty ; 


I4O  SELF-COMMUNING. 

And  on  its  radiant  vision  refulgent 
Shone  the  fated  star  of  hope,  when  love  was  hope, 
And  gentle  eyes  were  dreams  of  bliss,  and  all 
Things  breathed  a  prayer  for  courteous  peace  con 
tinued  ? 

That  was  the  time  to  die :  in  time  of  joy 
To  part  with  joy,  and  shun  its  waiting  sorrow ; 
Ere  in  the  tender  heart  were  built  dark  caves, 
For  vulpine  thought  to  dwell  in  and  look  back. 

Life  and  death  are  only  one,  for  life  is 
Death  to  think  upon. 

What's  this  narrow  world  ? 
A  surging  sea  of  drowning  men,  who  snap, 
And  snarl,  and  bite,  even  while  they  sink,  in  lust 
Of  fame  and  gold  and  visions  of  the  heart. 
The  future  is  but  the  past.     All  is  mist 
And  vapor,  and  turbulence  of  the  mind. 
The  world's  glory  is  as  a  drop  of  water 
On  the  sand ;  a  city's  grandeur  passes 
Like  a  flash  on  the  breath  of  time.     Towers 
And  castles  vanish  like  dewdrops  in  the  sun. 
'Tis  to  the  past  we  build,  not  the  future; 


SELF-COMMUNING.  1 4 1 

All  our  plans  and  toil  we  leave  behind  us. 

As  onward  we  move,  'tis  only  to  strike 

The  weary  breast  'gainst  the  frost  of  sorrow. 

The  rocks  and  hills  are  but  the  snuff  of  time  ; 

With  time's  finger  we  touch  them,  and  they  crumble. 

The  mind  outlives  whatever  it  may  see, 

For  thinking  eyes  turn  all  things  into  dust. 

The  hope  and  beauty  of  the  universe 

In  the  stern  shadows  of  reflection  die. 

We  sweat  and  bear  the  burdens  of  a  day, 

Then  close  the  eyes  in  sleep  forevermore. 

Life  and  death  are  poised  on  fate,  outreaching 

Far  the  valid  clutch  of  reason's  fingers, 

As  thought  grinds  thought  to  nothing.     Our  flesh 

dies 

On  our  bones,  our  nails  wither,  and  our  limbs 
Are  forsaken  by  the  vigor  of  our  days. 
Let  censuring  thought,  we  crave,  be  dumb, 
While  the  past,  like  an  arid  desert,  burns 
Our  gazing  eyeballs.     From  the  scorching  present 
We  onward  fly  to  a  future  of  doubt  and  haze. 

The  seasons  come  ;  the  seasons  go  ;  they  blossom, 


142  SELF-COMMUNING. 

They  fade  and  bloom  again.     We're  born ;  we  blos 
som, 

And  we  die.     Why  not  bloom  again,  like  that 
Nature,  of  which  we  are  the  soul's  essence  ? 
Return  to  life  is  nature's  vital  function 
But  fulfilled.     Our  spirits  walk  the  deep, 
Or  skim  the  air,  as  living  breath  is  mingled 
With  the  winds.    The  world's  a  grave.    Again  we  live 
On  human  clay.     We  are  the  dead  returned 
Again  to  life. 

A  faith  we  reach  and  hold, 
But  not  the  proof,  that  something  rules  beyond 
Our  gift  to  know.     And  yet  to  know  would  be 
To  doubt.     We  doubt  the  things  we  see;  we  doubt 
The  words  we  speak ;  we  doubt  the  life  within, 
Ere  we  move  our  limbs  to  prove  that  we  exist. 
Even  then  we  doubt.     Thought's  marrow  is  a  dream. 
We  live  in  the  shambles  of  a  reason 
That's  questioned  by  a  closer  reason  still. 
Knowledge  is  doubt ;  life  is  fate ;  fate  is  dust. 
Greatness  is  greatest  unexplained.     Clothe  dwarfs 
In  mystery,  and  time  will  make  them  giants. 


SELF.  COMM  UN  ING,  1 43 

Learning  pulverizes  the  living  clay, 

And  to  coin  a  thought  fulfils  an  aspiration. 

The  world's  a  skiff  on  the  river  Time, 
And  all  are  pilots,  with  diverging  aims. 
Our  brightest  dream,  gently  rocked  on  the  wave 
Of  thought,  palmy  and  blithe,  is  but  the  fleeting 
Spell  of  wan  and  wild-eyed  sorrow's  hectic 
Glow,  which  bears  the  soul,  with  muffled  oar,  be 
yond 
A  fated  sea,  to  rest  from  human  woe. 

Hill  and  dale,  mountain  and  savanna, 
In  busy  life  I  view.     Where'er  the  eye 
May  roam,  the  countless  herds  graze  and  prosper  ; 
The  fruitful  fields  are  laden  with  their  gifts. 
And  Mother  Earth  is  dressed  in  vernal  robes  ; 
While  her  daughter,  Spring,  with  buds  of  hope 
That  mother's  breast  adorns.     And  all  for  what  ? 
For  me  to  contemplate  the  passing  scene, 
And  in  that  contemplation  have  the  balm 
Of  pleasure's   peace  chilled   by   winds   from   open 

graves  ; 
To  contemplate  man's  tongue  as  the  mind's  bell, 


144  SELF-COMMUNING. 

And  his  mouth  the  stomach's  hopper  ;  to  gild 

With  fancy  a  fond  imagination  : 

Making  all  space  a  universe  of  life  ; 

Marshalling  its  plains  with  warriors  of  eld  ; 

Awe-struck  at  Jehovah,  in  a  chariot 

Of  stars,  crowned  by  His  suns,  attempered  by 

His  moons,  and  comets  for  His  waving  plumes. 

Tyrant  custom  forever  censures  light. 
Craven  worship,  with  its  snares,  is  but  the  craft 
Of  kings,  who  draw  it  down  from  mystery 
To  themselves,  more  loyal  their  slaves  to  hold. 
Fear  no  worship  is,  but  cowardice  rank, 
The  slave's  habiliment ;  while  learning  is 
Prejudice  ;  and  ignorance,  superstition. 
As  brazen  suns  aggrieve  the  heavenly  stars, 
The  soul  divine  is  scourged  by  bigots'  tongues. 
All  is  light  of  nothing. 

The  trust  of  youth 

Is  lost  in  the  haze  of  age.     To  be  unhappy 
Is  to  read  and  learn.     When  all  is  known  that 
Can  be  known,  we  fail  to  hold  a  vision. 
Fog,  waste,  dissolution  are  all  that  time 


SELF-  COMMUNING.  1 45 

Can  bring.     We  trust  to-morrow,  and  distrust 
To-day.     And  life  is  this,  and  death  :  to-day 
Is  death  ;  to-morrow,  life — the  life  of  clay. 
Away  we  float  on  the  dark  wing  of  time, 
And  naught  remains,  save  the  mockery  of  dust. 

Nature,  God,  and  Man  are  the  trinity 
Divine.     One  is  all,  and  all  are  one.     'Tis 
The  God  within  us,  not  without,  our  deepest 
Reverence  claims,  which  is  to  know  and  ourselves 
Esteem  as  the  only  gods  ;  nor  suffer 
This  earth  a  king  or  slave  endure.     Wherefore 
Shall  man  worship  ?     Worship  the  sin 
That  brought  him  on  this  earth  !      What  juggling 

fraud 

On  Reason's  God  !     Wherefore  have  we  reason, 
Save  to  understand  ?     Howe'er  we  may  our 
Sense  befog  in  mist  of  superstition 
And  creeds  insensate,  the  strong  and  steady  eye 
Of  discerning  reason  the  mist  dispels, 
And  challenges  the  proof,  lifting  the  mind 
Above  the  weight  of  matter.     My  godhead 
Reason  is.     Shall  I  forswear  my  godhead, 


1 46  SELF-  CO  MM  UN  ING. 

And  live  a  lie  ? — live  a  dumb  creation, 
And  place  in  contradictions  tortuous  all 
My  spiritual  trust,  to  sink  beneath  my 
Mental  current  of  disdain  ?     How  can  man, 
Enlightened,  his  clear  judgment's  depths  cajole, 
And  live  a  hypocrite  ?     He's  reason  blind 
Who  reasons  not,  and  tyrant  he  who  demands 
Our  worship.     There  is  a  fabled  power 
All  mercy  claims.     Before  his  godly  eyes 
Are  moaning  babes  in  flames  of  fire  consumed  ; 
Yet  speaks  he  not,  nor  moves  he  in  that  love 
That  sinful  mortal  might.     Of  jealous  traits 
He  is,  and  only  him  shall  worship  all,  while 
Half  the  world  by  gross  idolatry  all 
Senses  shame  ;  and  yet  the  fabled  wisdom 
Guides  them  not,  but  would  them  punish 
For  that  they  know  not  of — a  creature  damn 
For  light  he  never  saw  ! 

To  the  minds  that 

Rise  above  their  fellows,  naught  is  real,  save 
Imagination.     Of  life  'tis  the  essence. 
Tt  gives  to  the  palate,  taste ;  to  the  heart,  pulse  ; 


SELF-COMMUNING.  147 

To  the  soul,  trust  ;  and  to  the  will,  conquest. 
It  gives  to  genius  bold  that  assertion 
That  succeeds  and  all  the  world  surprises. 

The  orb  of  day  ascends,  and  glows,  and  fades, 
As  man,  his  youth,  meridian,  and  decline. 
Fear  is  our  habitation,  and  frail  hope 
The  door,  through  which  we  pass  to  joy  still-born, 
On  dark  tides  of  rising  sorrow.     Never 
At  rest,  never  at  peace,  till  the  last  gleam 
Of  flickering  light  flies  the  socket.     And  where 
The   end  ?      Perhaps    in   this :    When    time   makes 

havoc 

With  our  last  remains,  their  first  consignment 
Being  to  worms  and  putrefaction,  their  next 
To  dust,  we're  blown  by  whistling  winds  into 
The  eye  of  him  that  preaches. 


THE   CLOSE. 

JHE  dew  of  the  evening  came  down 

On  cottage  and  village  and  town  : 
It  came  like  a  prayer  on  the  sun-burdened  air, 
And  rested  on  rest  as  a  crown. 

There  was  peace  in  the  haze  on  the  hill, 
There  was  peace  in  the  rhyme  of  the  rill ; 
And  the  robin's  rich  note  on  the  air  was  afloat, 
With  a  chirp,  and  a  song,  and  a  trill. 

Though  she  passed  long  ago  from  my  mind, 
Though  she  left  me  in  sadness  behind, 
She  carne  back  to  me  true  in  the  fall  of  the  dew, 
Once  again  our  affections  to  bind. 

There  was  peace  in  the  gloom  on  my  breast, 
As  I  looked  to  the  far-sinking  West ; 
In  that  dreamland  I  gazed  on  bright  altars  that  blazed 

As  beacons  where  the  weary  found  rest. 
148 


THE   CLOSE.  149 

In  the  dew  of  the  evening  that  fell 
On  mountain  and  streamlet  and  dell, 
Proud  hopes  of  the  past  before  me  were  cast, 
Their  tales  of  disaster  to  tell. 

I  was  glad  that  the  close  of  my  day 
And  my  darkness  was  not  far  away; 
And  my  eyelids  were  wet,  but  not  with  regret, 
In  the  twilight  of  longings'  decay. 

And  the  dew  of  my  dreaming  it  fell 
On  the  ashes  within  my  heart's  cell ; 
And  the  eve  of  life's  close  drooped  her  head  in  repose, 
As  she  whispered,  "  All  yet  shall  be  well ! " 


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